#he looks like he's allergic to cats and i love him for it

[asexual-juliet]

once again thinking about ponyboy bringing home a stray cat and begging darry to let them keep it but pony is very clearly and obviously allergic to cats like he is fully breaking out into hives and can’t stop sneezing as he lets this little kitten lick his face and darry is like. ponyboy what the fuck go take a shower. and ponyboy looks at him so pathetically and his poor little eyes are swelling shut and he’s like “darry please he’s so little we need to take care of him we can’t put him back on the street 😭” and soda reassures him that they won’t but tells ponyboy he needs to go take a shower and pop some benadryl and while ponyboy is in the shower johnny and dally come over and johnny falls in LOVE with the cat and they come to the conclusion that dally will keep it <3 and now darry can always tell when ponyboy’s been hanging around buck merrill’s place because he’ll come home wheezing and covered in hives and be like “i don’t know what you’re fucking talking about darrel”

[babyjinsu]

heartlink - anton lee

it's a match!

002 of 001

wc; 2.5k anton borderline stalker manipulator creep

by the time you know it, you and anton were planning for another date.

both of you had been talking (exchanged numbers) for almost two months now; and you could feel it—that anton was genuinely interested in you. he let it be known too. he never failed to ask about your day, everyday, and even remembered little details you didn’t realise you had mentioned. like that one time you were ranting about a classmate and he asked if it was the same girl who took credit for your work in the team. 

it felt nice. really nice, in fact. you couldn’t recall the last time you were excited to talk to someone past bedtime.

anton: should we go to the forest park? spring is near :) 

you read the message twice. the forest park was a little further out but he was right—parks are so much prettier during springs. 

yn: sounds nice! i haven’t been there in a while^^

anton: that’s perfect then. saturday afternoon?

yn: that works. i’ll c u soon

anton: i cant wait 

you liked talking to anton, and if he truly liked you the way you did, you could see a relationship forming between the two of you.

——

the weather was perfect. it was chilly, not too cold, but just enough to make you slightly shiver under your sweater. the last time you were here was a year, or two years ago before you enrolled in university. it looked even prettier than you remember—the trees just starting to wake from winter. 

despite the cold air, anton’s presence was warm beside you. 

thankfully, this time you didn’t feel that uneasiness creeping into your bones like before. if anything, you felt comfortable. maybe the first date was just your nervous system acting up.

you and anton walked side by side, talking about everything and nothing—his upcoming tests, your tasks last weekend, and so on. the rhythm felt natural. and at some point, the conversation shifted to pets.

“i’m thinking of adopting a dog,” you said, kicking a loose pebble on the path. “not like a really big one. maybe a corgi, or a shiba? they’re really cute.” anton hummed beside you, hands in his pocket. “yeah? what about a cat?” he asked, looking at you from his height.

“i love cats, but…” you crossed your arms, looking up to the sun that was dipping low. “i want a pet that gets excited when i come home. so it doesn’t feel so lonely.” you smiled, looking up at him.

anton chuckled. “true true,” he nodded, looking forward. “besides, you’re allergic to cats.” 

your smile and steps faltered. 

you felt the air around you suddenly dropped in temperature. you came to a stop, cocking your head slightly in confusion. “...what?”

anton glanced back at you and stopped his tracks as well; turning his body to face you. he still had a smile on his face. “what?” he echoed, almost amused. 

you blinked, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “how do you know that?”

“about what?” anton asked.

it dawned on you that the only people in the park were you and anton. you suddenly become hyper-aware of your vicinity—the once comforting rustling and petals falling from the trees now felt eerily hollow. 

“about me being allergic to cats…” you murmured—your voice coming out softer than intended.

anton blinked at you, then let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “you told me.”

you frowned. “no, i didn’t.”

you stared at him, your heart racing. had you? you knew you hadn’t. the only people who knew about your allergy to cats were your family members and some of your friends (because you came to their apartments often)—and your past roommate. if you did tell him at one point, you would’ve remembered. why would you even tell him about your allergy to cats?

but the way anton was looking at you so casually, like it was obvious—like you were the one being weird.

“you did,” he insisted, his voice even; unlike yours. “you must’ve forgotten.” 

your arms tightened around yourself. “i… i don’t think I did, though?” 

anton’s eyes married just a fraction. “are you sure?” he hummed. his voice was gentle and patient, as if he was speaking to someone, you, who had misplaced a memory. “maybe you mentioned it in passing? people forget small things all the time.” 

you hesitated. that wasn’t wrong, at all. your mother said you’re forgetful all the time.

he took a step closer to you, his smile didn’t waver. anton stood just close enough that you could catch a faint scent of his cologne—he smelled like damp earth after rain. you hoped he didn’t hear the way your heart’s beating against your ribcage. “i told you, i know you,” he murmured, you could barely catch it over the rustling wind. “we’ve talked a lot. i pay attention to you, that’s all.” 

there was something unsettling about the way he said that—it should’ve made you feel better. happy, giddy, excited, that anton paid attention to you—the small, trivial, details about you. he cared enough to. 

but instead you forced out a laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “i mean, i guess it’s possible. i’m just forgetful sometimes.”

anton hummed, stretching his arms out above his head. “good thing i remember things for you, then.” he smiled. you mirrored him, plastering a small, almost forced smile onto your face and started walking again—anton followed close behind, falling back into steps beside you.

it was just a slip of memory, nothing weird. nothing weird at all.

the air still felt cold, but anton’s presence was still warm.

——

ever since the second date, everything that came out of anton’s mouth sounded, and felt very uneasy for you. so the decision to stop talking to anton—just happened…

it wasn’t anything concrete, the reasoning wasn’t something you could point to and say, this is why. it was the way it was spoken—so sure of the things you were certain (after thorough memory recalling) you never told him; it’s the way he made you question yourself. so small, and so insignificant even, but you couldn’t get it off your mind. it was burrowing into your skin like a splinter. 

slowly, you let the conversation fade into nothing. you stopped replying as often; the way you’re replying was obvious you were in no mood to talk—then you stopped replying altogether. you did feel guilty, felt like you fumbled a really handsome, tall, smart dude but you just couldn’t shake off the feeling. that weird gurgle feeling in your stomach when you think of him.

at first you convinced yourself that it was just temporary—new semester was unfolding so you’ve got to prepare yourself anyway. besides, a coworker had just quitted, which meant you had to work double shifts. it wasn’t just anton to be fair, you quitted tinder too. deleted your account and everything because you just didn’t find it fun anymore. anton would understand, you knew him that much, at least.  

he didn’t bombarded you with texts, but he did check in.

anton: hey, everything ok? youve been quiet :/ 

anton: hopefully things are fine. did i do something wrong? 

you stared at the messages for a long time, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. 

days passed, anton still hadn’t stopped texting.

anton: you havent been responding me 

anton: yn?

you fought the urge to reply, to send him a text—a lie—telling him that you just got a bit busy for the past few days! and things were fine and that you guys should go out again! but you didn’t. you just left him on read, and eventually, anton was left on simply delivered. 

then a few weeks passed, no more texts came on the other end. you didn’t know how to feel. it’s normal and logical for people to stop putting effort after realising it’s not reciprocated—it’s not something you could blame anton for. 

so you blocked him, 

and you thought that was the end of it, you really, really, did. 

——

the student gathering was loud, mixed with overlapping conversations and hum of music. the air carried the aroma of grilled meat and sizzling fat as people talked and passed plates and clinked drinks over each other. like most people in the restaurant, you had been roped into this by your friends—and you were surprisingly having a good time. until, you got a phone call from your mother. 

“oh, i’ve got to take this call…”

the cool air of the night hit you almost immediately as you stepped out. standing just beside the restaurant’s building, you pressed your phone against your ear as your mother’s voice filtered through the receiver. “how’s the new semester, honey?”

you smiled warmly despite her not being able to see it anyway. “mm, it’s fine,” you reassured, leaning against the brick. you glanced briefly at your friends chugging bottles of beers through the glass door. “i’m at the art department’s party right now.” 

you heard your mother muttering a small ‘wow’ before she asked you about your classes. “it’s okay so far. only been a few weeks… not excited to learn more.” you chuckle, looking down on your mary janes. 

the new semester was swiping in faster than you’d prepared yourself for. the new syllabus, new lecturers, new faces in your class… they weren’t foreign, but somehow it just felt like so.

“hehe, i’ll probably come back during the mid-semester break,” you replied to your mother’s question asking when will you be back? your younger sister’s missing you. you adjusted your grip on your phone, switching it to the other ear as your mother talked about your dad’s annoying behaviour. 

eventually, the conversation came to an end—with your mother telling you to not skip meals, and to have enough rest, you bid your mother goodbye and ended the phone call, but not before telling her that you loved her. 

you hummed softly to yourself, tucking your phone back inside your cardigan until a sudden wisp of smoke curled into the air, the smell sharp and acrid. you scrunched your nose as it hits you, before you noticed the figure standing a few feet away, back leaning against the wall. the ember of the tip of his cigarette flared as he took another slow drag.

whatever, just a dude smoking, you thought, people smoke all the time—and they couldn’t be bothered enough to check their surroundings. you exhaled. 

you pushed off the wall, ready to head back inside—

“wow,” a voice drawled, smooth and amused. “yn? what are you doing here?”

you froze. you knew that voice. you hadn’t heard it for weeks.

your breath hitched slightly as you turned your head.

and there he was. anton stood there, cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers. there was that same smile, that same, charming, boyish smile on his face that swept you off the ground. 

his voice carried a lilt of surprise as he flickered the cigarette, the ember glowing before dimming again. he pushed himself off the wall, and made his way just slightly towards you.

you forced your lips to move, now fully facing him. your legs were too frozen to move—to leave, to run back in where he, you thought, wouldn’t be brave enough to confront. “i—” you swallowed, “i could ask you the same thing.” 

anton only lets out a small laugh before taking another drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in slow breath. you never knew he smoke. he never told you, and he certainly didn’t look like one.

“i’m picking up a friend,” he hummed, nudging his head towards the inside of the restaurant. his friend was someone from your university. you never heard him mention any friends before—not that he had to, but… 

you pressed your lips together, nodding in acknowledgement—but honestly it just felt like you needed to do some kind of physical interaction to hide the uneasiness on your face. “oh,” you murmured, shifting your feet. “that’s nice…”

you didn’t know what else to say.

you felt anton’s gaze on you, and even without looking, you could tell he still had that smile plastered on his face. your skin prickled, goosebumps rose across your body. 

“you look pretty,” he said suddenly. the soft glow of his cigarette flickered, the scent heavier than the cold feeling of the night air. “been doing okay?” 

god, it was just a simple question. why do you feel like crying? 

either way, you forced down the heavy lump rising in your throat. “yeah,” you lied, nodding. “just… been busy.” you continued, crossing your arms—hugging yourself as a sense of security, self-soothing mechanism, even. you’re still not looking at him.

anton hummed, tilting his head slightly. he could see right through you. atta girl, 

“did you change your number?” he asked, almost offhandedly. “my texts wouldn’t go through. did something happen?” 

you felt your pulse spiking. oh my god, oh my god. he tried texting you? 

your throat went dry, your fingers gripped your cardigan tighter—you didn’t just ghost anton, you cut him off. you blocked and went out of radar. you deleted your tinder account, wiped everything away. and he still tried? 

anton let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head at your silence. it gave it away.

“you blocked me, didn’t you?”

you remained quiet, fingers pinching on your own skin. anton exhaled another slow breath of smoke. he was looking at you and the way he was looking at you—his eyes, they didn’t hold a look of disappointment, or anger, or or, being rejected. it was something worse, it was amusement.

like he had found it funny. ridiculous, childish, expected. 

your stomach churned when you caught a glimpse of it. 

“i should head back,” you muttered. it took you a lot of courage to say that. your body was already half-turning towards the glass door of the restaurant—just a few steps, and you’d be greeted by your friends asking what took you so long, and the scent of meat and alcohol. you’d be safe.

but before you could, anton shifted—just lightly, 

anton wrapped his fingers around your wrist. it wasn’t tight nor was it forceful—it was warm and firm. 

it was just enough to make your breath hitch in your throat, to send a cold rush down your spine. your body freezing on instinct. 

you turned your head over your shoulder, glancing down at his hand to where it engulfed yours—his fingers, slender and steady, easily curved around the fragile line of your wrist. for a second, you thought of how easy it would be for anton to break it.

then, slowly, his thumb brushed over the inside of your wrist, absentmindedly, memorising—feeling the way your pulse jumped beneath your skin.

“anton,” you breathed out, your own betraying you. he hummed, his lips curling at the edges as he took another step closer—he didn’t pull you in. the space between you both shrinking as his presence settled into your circle.  “come on,” he said, tilting his head slightly. his grip didn’t tighten nor did it loosen.

“we haven’t talked for so long,” anton continued, his tone light. there was something mockery in the way he said it, just beneath the surface of his voice that gave goosebumps over your arms. his fingers twitched against your cold skin, not a lot, but intentional.

a heartbeat passed,

then another—

“what’s the rush?”

💭 hes so hot oh my lawd..... part 3 or similar concept w other members r being think-ed about....

[prettyboyoncologist]

[a-sleepy-ginger]

21/3/24

✿❈✿❈✿

Cake for lunch

Was really comfy in bed when I woke up

Got economics assessment done

Got alot of cuddles from my cat

[flamagenitus]

Was on a video call w my dad and stepmum yesterday and she tried to get jasmine (the cat) to look at me on the phone screen. But of course the cat doesn't register my face on the screen as being a person she knows' face, so she starts looking around bc I'm calling her name but she can't see me? And my stepmum's hand is right next to her (holding the phone) and she wants face scritches. So I didn't get to see her faceeeee!! I miss her

[kitasuno]

dating the love and deepspace boys | domestic moments

featuring: rafayel, xavier, and zayne x gn!reader

(´• ω •`) ♡ modern au! can you guys tell raf is my favorite..?

rafayel

a year younger than you. lies to everyone (including you) that he’s actually two years your senior. you only found out he was younger than you when you met his parents, who have his birth certificate framed. 

hates cats. despises them. they fill him with rage (fear). says he’s allergic (he’s lying).

“oh shit raf, this sucks! i guess you can’t move in with me.. i have cats”

“...you have cats?”

“yeah. 3.”

“i’m not allergic. i can move in tonight.”

chronically online. minoring in marine biology and majoring in annoying you. texts you over 200 times a day and if you don’t respond, he’s faking a horrible chronic illness. again. it’s amnesia on wednesdays, appendicitis on thursdays, chronic migraines on fridays… etc..

he has 2 followers on his private twitter. you and thomas. 

over 700k followers on instagram for some reason? he sells paintings on depop (he says it's depop but you’re convinced he sells them for heinous prices on the black market) 

cooks on occasion? has an apron that says kiss me im irish (he's not irish?) made you a tuna cupcake once?? 

pescatarian. not in the vegan/vegetarian way where he refuses to eat red meat but because he’s absolutely feral over fish. (is this cannibalism? he says its not)

lives in a 2 bedroom apartment with you but doesn’t use his bedroom. says your bed is comfier. turned his bedroom into a painting studio (IT’S for the black market you say!!) and sleeps with you. 

“raf,” you sigh. “don’t you have.. homework or something?” 

he sits between your legs, back against your chest as he scrolls through his phone. 

“yeah,” he says. you flick the back of his head because you know he’s smirking. “it’s called assignment: you. due in two minutes.” 

with his free hand, he reaches back mindlessly to grab yours. you sigh, fingers intertwining with his, a reflex as he leans his head back. his eyes meet yours and you can’t help but laugh. 

“well?” you ask, brushing his hair out of his eyes as he squeezes your hand. “what are the assignment details?” 

he chews on the bottom of his lip as he thinks, humming while his eyes wander across your face. he swings your interlocked hands in circles. it’s raining outside, the heater is on, and rafayel is warm like hot chocolate. 

“what?” he says, his cheeks a tinge pink. “you’re looking at me like that again.” a pause. he turns, his head now buried in your chest.

“just studying my homework.” you say, hands instinctively wrapping around his back. the laundry machine is running in the background, rain is falling against the window, and you faintly hear your rice cooker dinging in the kitchen. home, you think, is with rafayel.

“i can hear your heartbeat.” he says, voice muffled. “it’s super fast. you like me or something?” 

“i really like you.” you say, without skipping a beat. rafayel groans into your chest, sighing in discontent. 

“no fair. i’m supposed to be the flirter.” 

you press a kiss onto the top of his head and you feel his body melt into yours. the two of you fall into a warm silence, his breath steady as he traces paintings into your neck. 

“raf?” you mumble, eyes drooping. he hums in response. “did you pass your assignment?” 

he smiles. “with flying colors.” 

xavier

chronic napper. (yapper?) 

has 100 late assignments. failing all of his classes yet got into the top university in your country because he got a perfect score on his entrance exams. you thought he was a nepo baby (turns out he’s just.. smart?)

his procrastination rubs off on you… he is the WORST distraction and he knows it. so smug about it and uses it to his own advantage. will perch on top of you when you’re studying and kiss down your neck until you go to sleep with him. 

lives in the apartment on top of yours but is at your house most days, if not all. you ask him to move in.

“am i not already.. living with you?” 

“don’t you still have your apartment, though?”

“yeah..?”

 is that good for the economy?? is it financially smart? not at all, but he’s too lazy to move out and put his apartment up for lease. 

xavier sleeps with his legs entangled with yours and his arms wrapped tightly around your chest. the air conditioning hums in the background as you scroll mindlessly on your phone, dimming the brightness as you hear xavier stir. 

“sorry xav, did i wake you up?” you ask. he doesn’t respond, blinking the sleep out of his eyes as he glares at your phone. 

“xavier?” you question, swallowing a laugh at his ruffled hair and disheveled clothes. 

“phone down.” he says, voice raspy with sleep and an octave lower than usual. you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“can i get a pretty please in this economy?” 

xavier’s eyes narrow as he snatches your phone away, snoozing the device and placing it on the nightstand next to you. his lips ghost your neck, pressing kisses against your skin as he mumbles incoherently in the dark of your bedroom. 

“xavier-” you breathe, giggling at the sensation. “that tickles!” 

he nips at your neck. 

“bedtime. now.” 

zayne

3 years older than you 

he literally has his whole life together at 27 which scares you so much

“my credit card is your credit card” typa boyfriend

cooks. cleans. has a 9-5. you’re interning at the hospital that he works at (he’s head doctor!!)

you’re just a sweet little intern and zayne is the big bad monster!! everyone at work thinks he hates you because he’s extra strict on you. doesn’t give you any special treatment, ‘ignores’ you most days (but also slips meals into your locker and hands you heat packs on cold days in the hospital)

no one knows he’s dating you until one day someone sees you leaving in zaynes car. 

“oh, you carpool with doctor zayne?”

“huh? no, we live together.”

“you WHAT???”

he’s a virgo……. erm……

the two of you get ready together in the morning. his guard is down when he’s sleepy and he’ll cling to you as he brushes his teeth and does his hair.

you wake up to the cold night breeze, blinking the sleep out of your eyes and shivering as you scan your surroundings. you yelp as you meet the attentive gaze of your boyfriend. 

“huh? whuh? huh?” you splutter, squirming as zayne holds you tighter. he’s carrying you bridal style in his arms, his jacket around your shoulders as the two of you walk to his car. you see the bright lights of akso hospital fading away behind the two of you. 

“it’s two am,” he says calmly, placing you down gently as he opens your car door for you. “you waited for my shift to end. again.” 

you smile bashfully, rubbing the back of your head. “well, i didn’t wanna just leave you!” 

zayne clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, eyebrows furrowed but gaze warm. he guides you into your seat, clicking your seatbelt in place. 

“you can nap on the way home,” he says, closing the door and sliding into his side of the car. 

the heater’s on already- courtesy of his super expensive electric car. he fastens his own seatbelt and hands you a hot tea and bread from the hospital vending machine. 

“drink up. doctor’s orders.” 

you grin before he leans over to press a kiss on your lips. 

“thank you for waiting for me.”

[pucksandpower]

Under the Mistletoe

Lando Norris x Reader

Summary: Lando really wants you to kiss him under the mistletoe. Sounds normal enough, right? Wrong! So wrong

Warnings: 18+ content and description of an allergic reaction

The apartment is finally quiet. The muffled thrum of conversation and laughter that had filled every corner just hours ago has faded, leaving only the faint crackle of the fireplace in the living room. It smells like pine needles, spiced cider, and the faint citrus tang of your new body wash. You pad softly down the hallway in your slippers, the wooden floor cool beneath your feet.

“Lando?” You call, peeking into the dimly lit bedroom.

He’s there, of course, but the sight that greets you isn’t what you expect.

Lando is lying on his back, smack in the middle of the bed, arms folded behind his head like he doesn’t have a care in the world. He’s wearing nothing. Absolutely nothing … except for a single, strategic adornment. Tied with what looks like a strip of red ribbon, a sprig of mistletoe dangles provocatively from his dick.

“Seriously?” You stop in the doorway, blinking. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Happy Christmas,” he says, grinning like the Cheshire cat.

“That’s not an answer.”

“It’s an invitation.” He tilts his head slightly, his curls a messy halo against the pillow. “You’ve got to kiss me.”

“Oh, I’ve got to, have I?” You fold your arms, biting back a smile.

“Under the mistletoe,” he clarifies, as if that makes it any less ridiculous. “It’s the rules. I don’t make them.”

“You absolutely made this up.”

Lando shrugs, utterly unrepentant. “Does it matter?”

You stand there for a moment, torn between amusement and disbelief. “You know, normal people just leave cookies for Santa. Not …” You gesture vaguely at him, at the ribbon, at everything.

“Not everything has to be normal,” he says, his grin softening slightly. There’s something teasing in his tone, but there’s sincerity, too. “Come on, it’s Christmas. Don’t leave me hanging.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you love me for it.”

There’s no point denying it. You do love him — ridiculous, over-the-top antics and all. With a sigh that’s more for show than anything else, you take a few steps closer to the bed.

“Alright,” you say, pretending to consider. “Where exactly am I supposed to kiss you? The mistletoe’s not even …” You trail off, waving a hand vaguely in the air.

Lando smirks, his eyes dancing. “Where do you think?”

“You’re unbelievable,” you say again, but you’re already climbing onto the bed. The mattress dips under your weight, and Lando watches, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re not protesting much,” he points out.

“Shut up.”

“You could have just stayed in the doorway, you know. Told me off or something. But no, here you are-”

“Lando,” you cut in, leaning over him.

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

Your lips are on his before he can say anything else, cutting off whatever smug reply he had planned. His hands slide instinctively to your waist, pulling you closer as you kiss him.

It’s not rushed. The night has been long, full of people and noise and obligations, and this moment feels like a welcome reprieve. Lando’s mouth is warm, insistent but unhurried, and you let yourself get lost in it for a while, your fingers tangling in his hair.

When you finally pull back, he looks up at you, flushed and grinning.

“Good start,” he says, his voice a little breathless.

“Don’t push your luck.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a pointed look. “Really?”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admits, his grin widening.

Shaking your head, you shift your attention downward. The ribbon, the mistletoe — it’s so absurd you have to laugh.

“Did you seriously tie this yourself?” You ask, running a finger lightly along the edge of the ribbon.

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine, yes. Took me a solid twenty minutes, too. Those stupid YouTube tutorials make it look way easier than it is.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping slightly, “you’re still here.”

You meet his gaze, your laughter fading. The teasing, playful look in his eyes hasn’t disappeared, but there’s something else there now — something softer, more vulnerable. It’s the look he gets when he’s reminding you, without words, just how much you mean to him.

“Well,” you say quietly, “it is Christmas.”

“And you’ve got to follow the rules,” he murmurs.

“Right.”

The bed creaks slightly as you shift again, positioning yourself more comfortably. You lean down, pressing another kiss to his lips — gentler this time, more lingering. Then you trail kisses along his jaw, his collarbone, the faint dusting of freckles across his chest.

Lando lets out a soft, contented sigh, his hands finding your hips again. “You’re taking this very seriously,” he says, his voice tinged with amusement.

“I’m nothing if not thorough.”

“Lucky me.”

You glance up at him briefly, smirking. “You’ve no idea.”

When you finally reach the ribbon, you pause, your lips hovering just above it. Lando’s breathing hitches slightly, his grip on your waist tightening.

“Merry Christmas, Lando,” you murmur.

“Best Christmas ever,” he replies, his voice low and fervent.

And then, with deliberate slowness, you kiss him under the mistletoe.

You pause for a beat, the mistletoe brushing lightly against your cheek. Lando’s breathing is heavier now, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He’s trying to stay still, but his fingers dig into your skin, betraying how much control he’s losing.

“You alright up there?” You ask, teasing, your voice low.

“You know I’m not,” he mutters, his words strained.

“Good.”

And with that, you continue. Deliberate. Unhurried. Every movement of your mouth is purposeful, every touch designed to unravel him. Lando groans, low and broken, the sound rumbling through the quiet room like a storm on the horizon.

“Fuck, you’re …” He cuts himself off, his head tipping back into the pillow. His hands flex against your hips, as if holding you steady is the only thing grounding him.

“Say it,” you murmur, barely pulling away for a second.

He glances down at you, his hazel eyes dark and glassy. “You’re killing me,” he manages, his voice hoarse.

You smile, the corners of your mouth curving just slightly before you return to your task. Lando’s hands slip from your shoulders, clutching the sheets instead. He’s completely undone now — his breathing ragged, his head thrown back, his body trembling beneath you.

“F-fuck … close,” he stammers, his words tumbling out like he’s barely holding them together.

You hum softly in acknowledgment, the vibration of it drawing a sharp, involuntary gasp from him. It’s all he can take.

He breaks.

A strangled sound escapes his throat as his body tenses, and you taste the telltale musky warmth on your tongue. You stay where you are for a moment, letting him ride out the high, his grip on the sheets going slack.

When it’s over, you pull back slowly, swallowing before wiping at the corner of your mouth. One drop clings stubbornly to your lip, and you swipe it away with your thumb, catching Lando’s hazy, satisfied gaze as you do.

“You alright there?” You ask softly, your tone light but full of affection.

“Barely,” he mutters, his voice thick. He exhales sharply, his chest still heaving as he lets his head fall to the side, watching you with a dazed grin. “You’re-”

“What?” You tilt your head innocently, wiping your hand on a tissue before tossing it onto the nightstand.

“Perfect,” he finishes, his voice soft and full of something deeper than just the moment.

You laugh quietly, crawling up the bed to lie beside him. He pulls you close immediately, one arm draped over your waist, the other brushing back a strand of hair from your face.

“Was this your master plan all along?” You tease, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Maybe,” he admits, still catching his breath.

“And?”

“It worked, didn’t it?” He grins, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

You roll your eyes but smile against his skin. “Merry Christmas, Lando.”

“Happy Christmas,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with exhaustion and contentment.

For a moment, neither of you says anything more. The only sound is the quiet crackle of the fire in the distance, and the world beyond the bedroom feels miles away.

Eventually, Lando breaks the silence. “So … same thing next year?”

You shove him playfully, laughing as his grin widens. “Go to sleep.”

And with him wrapped around you, the warmth of his love settling over you like a blanket, you do.

***

The morning light creeps through the curtains, warm and soft, a stark contrast to the frantic energy in the room. You stir awake first, stretching lazily until you feel Lando shift beside you, letting out a low, uncomfortable groan.

“Ugh,” he mutters, his voice muffled by the pillow. “Something’s wrong.”

“What do you mean, wrong?” You mumble sleepily, rolling over to look at him.

He doesn’t respond immediately, just shifts again, his body stiff and tense. Then he sits up abruptly, wincing as if every movement hurts.

“Lando?” You ask, more alert now.

“It … hurts,” he says, glancing down at himself. “Like, bad.”

You follow his gaze, and that’s when you see it. The redness. The swelling.

“Oh my God,” you say, your voice shooting up an octave. You sit up fully, the sleepiness disappearing in an instant. “What happened?”

“I don’t know!” He exclaims, his face a mixture of panic and embarrassment. “It was fine last night!”

“Well, it’s not fine now!” You scoot closer, carefully inspecting the irritated skin. It’s blotchy, bright red, and looks alarmingly angry.

“It’s swollen,” he groans.

“No kidding.”

“What do we do?” He asks, his voice bordering on frantic.

“First, calm down,” you say, though your own voice isn’t exactly steady. “Second … oh my God, Lando, do you think it’s the mistletoe?”

His eyes widen as the realization hits. “You think I’m allergic?”

“Do you have any idea where that stuff’s been stored? It’s probably coated in dust or pollen or something. Or-” Your voice catches. “Do you think you’ve always been allergic?”

“I’ve never, uh … put it on my cock before, so how would I know?”

The two of you stare at each other for a moment, panic simmering between you.

“We need help,” Lando says finally.

“Like … a doctor?”

“No!” He yelps. “We’re not going to a doctor for this!”

“Then what-”

“Call Jon,” he blurts out, cutting you off.

“What?” You ask, incredulous. “Your performance coach?”

“Yeah! He knows, like, medical stuff. And he won’t make it weird.”

You raise a skeptical eyebrow but grab your phone anyway, scrolling to Jon’s number. “Oh, this isn’t going to be awkward at all,” you mutter as it rings.

“Hello?” Jon answers, sounding far too chipper for the situation.

“Uh, hi, Jon,” you begin, exchanging a look with Lando. “It’s Y/N. Lando and I have … a bit of a problem.”

“What kind of problem?” Jon asks, his voice immediately shifting to professional concern.

“Well …” You trail off, glancing at Lando, who gestures frantically for you to continue. “It’s kind of … personal.”

“Y/N,” Jon says patiently, “you’re going to have to be a little more specific.”

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Okay, fine. Lando’s … area is swollen and covered in a rash.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“… Come again?” Jon finally says, and you can practically hear him trying not to laugh.

“It’s not funny!” Lando shouts from the bed. “It’s serious!”

“Oh, it’s serious?” Jon repeats, his voice full of barely concealed amusement. “Alright. How did this happen?”

You hesitate, then mumble, “He … tied mistletoe to it last night.”

Jon doesn’t reply immediately, but the faint sound of him choking back laughter comes through the line.

“Can you help or not?” Lando snaps, his cheeks flushing red — whether from anger or embarrassment, you’re not sure.

“Okay, okay,” Jon says, his tone softening. “It’s probably an allergic reaction. Clean the area thoroughly, apply a topical antihistamine if you have one, and keep it elevated to reduce swelling.”

“Elevated?” You echo, frowning. “How are we supposed to-”

“Just do your best,” Jon says, clearly suppressing a laugh again. “And if it doesn’t improve in a few hours, you might need to, uh … consult a professional.”

“Thanks, Jon,” you say quickly, hanging up before Lando can yell again.

Lando groans, flopping back onto the bed. “This is the worst Christmas ever.”

“You’ll survive,” you say, grabbing the first-aid kit from the bathroom. “Now, let me see.”

“This is humiliating,” he mutters, but he doesn’t resist as you sit beside him, carefully applying the ointment Jon suggested.

“Hold still,” you say gently, your touch careful.

He winces but doesn’t complain further, watching you with a mix of gratitude and lingering embarrassment. After a few minutes, the redness looks slightly less angry, though the swelling is still noticeable.

Once you’re done, you sit back with a sigh, your hands on your knees. “Well, that was a bonding experience.”

Lando lets out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, not exactly what I had planned.”

You glance at him, your lips twitching upward despite everything. “So … was it worth it?”

He grins, some of his usual confidence returning. “Next year, I’ll make sure to have an epipen ready.”

You laugh, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “Next year, maybe let’s stick to normal traditions. Like cookies. Or matching pajamas.”

“We’ll see,” he says, smirking as he leans back against the pillows. “I’ve still got a whole year to think of something even better.”

“God help us all,” you mutter, but there’s affection in your voice.

And despite the chaos, as you settle back into bed beside him, you can’t help but think it’s still a Christmas to remember.

[elexaria]

simon’s that guy. “don’t want a cat, for fuck’s sake.” he grumbles as you plead and beg, using the ol’ reliable puppy dog eyes to try and egg him on. “no, love. ‘m allergic.” he blatantly lies, sniffing as he looks down at you, his arm wrapped around your waist.

“no you’re not, simon.” you huff, rolling your eyes as you purposely ruffle his hair. it makes him chuckle, how quick you were to call him out. “fairs.” he replies, leaning back against the headboard with a smug grin. “still not getting a cat, though.”

the day you bring home the bundle of fur and purrs back from the adoption centre, simon’s not impressed. he stands in the kitchen, eyebrows furrowed as he watches the tuxedo cat pad around the kitchen curiously. “look at it. ‘ts just a bag of fleas.” he grimaces, looking at you with a deadpan expression. he’s such a sour puss, it makes you giggle as you kneel down to croon at the kitty, baby talking to it— which makes si groan and roll his eyes. “can’t deal with this.” he grumbles out, leaving you to suck up to the new addition to the riley family.

he’s so adamant he doesn’t like the cat!! he gives it the stink eye, sticks his middle finger up at it whenever it stares at him and calls it fat. “need’t go to weight watchers, fatty.” he teases as he watches it chow down on some food. you playfully chide him by swatting his shoulder, eliciting a deep rumble of amusement. “what? not exactly lyin’, am i?” he replies, grinning as he pulls you in close against him, peppering kisses over your face childishly.

he’s not slick, though. you accidentally notice it one day when passing the kitchen. you halt in your tracks, stealthily peeking round the corner as you watch simon crouching low, baby talking to the cat as he puts out some treats for it to nibble at. “such a fat puddy tat, ain’t ya? oh my.” he croons down at the furry fiend, who’s purring up a storm as it rubs its scent against his legs.

and then you can’t not see it. the cat pawing at the bathroom door, mewling for attention from si as he takes a shower. or the time you came home, finding the two of them napping on the sofa. the cat chirping happily when you walk in, stretching and pawing his face, which elicits a gruff chuckle. “ey, stop it, you.” he affectionately says to the cat, his eyes still shut as he continues to blissfully nap with a purring weight nestled on his chest.

it finally comes to an end when the three of you are relaxing in bed, you’re nestled up to simon while the cat lays at your feet. it begins to playfully swat simon’s toes, making him yelp and laugh something fierce. “oi!” he chuckles, wiggling his toes at the cat. it makes you look up at simon, amused as you shake your head. “you and that bloody cat, get a room.” you tease, nudging him with a grin. he snorts, nudging you back with a grin to match. “someone’s jealous, eh? don’t worry, i don’t love the cat more than you.”

he shoots a wink at the cat, hiding his mouth with his hand as he whispers loudly, “don’t listen to that, i love you more than them. we’re for lifers, mate.” before looking over at you with an impish expression. this man’s gonna be the death of you.

[rosenclaws]

What you've been missing || Worst!Logan x Reader

summary: Logan has found work at a local pet shelter but the last person he expects to see is his very cute neighbor looking for a new cat.

warnings: sad cat backstory, fluff, swearing

a/n: Here's pet shelter logan!! I'm ngl I almost started crying writing this because I want a cat so fucking bad but my dad is allergic and I still live at home so I can't get one. Also it made me think of this one senior cat I saw and I wanted so bad I cried to my boyfriend for days. Anyways I hope lives up to the og idea blurb I had. I've been feeling a little down and wanted to write something cute for a change.

"Hey watch the claws bub." Logan glares at his attacker. The one who stuck their sharp little claws into his leg as they climb his body like a tree.

Merooow

The adorable orange cat looks up at him with innocent little eyes. The cutest he's ever seen. Sighing he takes the cat in one hand and places her on his shoulder.

"This is why the others think I play favorites Jeanie." he mumbles. She just purrs happily, rubbing her head against Logan's and taking her place on his wide shoulders.

This really isn't how Logan expected to spend his time. But getting pulled into a new universe meant he was starting from square one and that meant he needed a job and money. Bad. If he ever wanted to get his own place so he didn't have to wake up and see Wade walking around in nothing while making breakfast. Most places were unsure about hiring a man like Logan.

Until he stumbled upon a local pet shelter. Yeah he's not exactly what anyone would think when they thought animal rescue but the animals loved him and this shelter desperately needed help. Plus Logan always got along better with animals than humans. Logan was primarily put in charge of the cats. Feeding, changing their litter box, and playing with them.

Logan understood the cats and they seemed to understand him. They wouldn't hiss or scratch him out of fear, they inherently trusted him. He found himself a little home. He could escape the world and just be around the animals.

"Where are my babies?" He hears Wades voice come from the other room. Logan rolls his eyes as he walks in with a big bag of cat food on his other shoulder.

"There you are Shopping cart and Totino's pizza rolls." Wade scratches the two cats heads. Surprise surprise he named them.

Though as soon as they hear Logan walk in they abandon Wade without a second thought. Logan slices open the bag and pours food into each bowl. The cats scramble to eat, doesn't matter if you had fed them an hour ago they're always happy for food.

"Jeanie, you gotta eat bub." Logan raises his hand and gently pets her head. But her claws dig deep into his shirt.

"Alright come on," Logan he grabs a can of cat food and walks into an empty room.

The sound of it opening makes her ears perk up. Logan gently takes her off his shoulder and places her on the table next to the canned food. He watches as she sniffs it, taking a few small bites before looking back at him.

"More than that." He scolds and she just meows back.

"Please?" She takes one more small bite before abandoning the food and curling up by his side.

Logan sighs, pushing his hair back as takes her in his arms. Jeanie was a surrendered cat. Logan hadn't been here long when she was brought in. Her owner was an old lady who had passed away and her kids couldn't keep Jeanie.

The first week was really hard. She was sad, lonely, and would barely touch her food and water. At first Logan let the more experienced staff deal with her but she just wouldn't budge. Eventually he gave it a shot, talking to her and pushing some nice wet food towards her. To everyone's shock she actually responded to Logan. Peeking her head out of her cage and giving even sniffing his hand.

Since then she really only responded to Logan. Following him around and giving him all her love and attention. She was a mature cat, not as cute as the kittens that most people scooped up right away. It did hurt Logan just a little to see her be passed up because of her age, but Logan did enjoy getting to see her everyday. Still, he knows that with Mary Puppins at home he can't adopt her.

Suddenly the door opens and Jeanie scurries back up to Logan's shoulder.

"Logan, I have a 1:30 appointment and Kathy isn't here so I need you to cover her." Penny begs, she's the one who runs the shelter. She gave Logan the job and he does owe her, but he's never been good with customers.

"I don't know, not exactly a people person." He mumbles but she just rolls her eyes, grabbing his wrist and drags him out of the room. Well kind of, it's hard to pull a 300lb man with a metal skeleton.

"Just one appointment. Show them some cats and see if they want to adopt. That's it."

"Okay," Logan agrees, hoping it's over quickly. He tries to put Jeanie down but she throws a fit, meowing loudly until he just gives up.

"Fine, but you keep it down when I'm talking alright?" He pushes open the door leading to the lobby and stops right in his tracks.

There you are sitting on the waiting room couch. Logan knows you. You live a couple apartments down from Wade. He's seen you in passing, catching whiffs of your shampoo in the elevator in the least creepy way ever. You've shared a few hellos but that's it.

The truth is Logan's pretty...well pretty. Your crush on him wasn't surprising in the slightest but you try and stay clear of him, hoping that it will go away so that you can actually talk to the man one day.

"Logan? I didn't know you worked here?" You say, shocked to see your hot neighbor here.

"Yeah, uh anyways you here to adopt a cat?" He asks awkwardly.

"I hope," You respond.

He nods his head and opens the door for you, putting his hand out as to say you first. Logan shows you a couple cats up for adopting, they're all adorable but none of them feel quite right. On the bright side they're kittens so you know they'll be adopted soon.

Logan remains relatively quiet as you say hi to each cat. Wade's been incredibly persistent about getting him to talk to you. Saying that only serial killers smell peoples hair in the elevator and to just pop a Viagra and talk to you. Pushing Wade's stupidly aside, he really doesn't know how to talk to you.

It's stupid, he used to be great at this kind of thing. Flirting was second nature to Logan but now he can barely think of a conversation starter. Plus you don't make it easy when your laugh is so hypnotizing and your smile is brighter than the moon.

"Who's this pretty girl?" Your voice breaks his thoughts. You're pointing to Jeanie who was still on his shoulder.

"Oh, this is Jeanie." She tilts her head at the sound of her name.

"She's so cute." You lift your hand up but Jeanie shrinks away. You immediately pull your hand back, afraid that you've upset her.

"Don't feel bad, she's not great with people."

"Reminds me of someone else I know." You joke. Logan raises an eyebrow, are you talking about him?

"Me, I was talking about me." You add on quickly.

"I've never really been great at making friends or just being around people." The truth is you're lonely.

You're tired of coming home to an empty cold apartment after work. Sure sometimes you go out with coworkers or old friends but it's not the same. You like being alone but you don't like to be lonely. Does that even make any sense? Not that you want to burden Logan with your problems.

"I wanted to adopt a cat because I wanted a friend, is that sad?" You ask nervously. Logan chuckles, reaching up and placing Jeanie down on the counter nearby.

"Not at all, I get it." Logan was alone for a lot of his life and he's still adjusting to having friends. A family if you could call it that. A really weird and fucked up family.

"Play nice Jeanie, I like this one so don't go scratching them up." He whispers, but you catch his words anyways. A faint smile on your lips as you reach your hand out slowly.

"Hi Jeanie, I'm a friend of Logan's." This time Jeanie doesn't run away, in fact she sniffs your hand cautiously.

She looks back at Logan and he nods. You smile when she rubs the side of her face against your hand. Walking around slowly as she takes you in.

"I think she likes you." Logan says.

Carefully you pet her head, making sure not to overstep any boundaries and Jeanie seems to love it. She even rolls on her back surprising both you and Logan.

"Her owner passed away, that's why she's here." He explains as you continue to pet her. Her big eyes are too much to resist. You know senior cats often get overlooked but she deserves to be loved again.

"Is she adoptable?" You ask and Logan hesitates. The answer is yes but apart of him doesn't want to see her go. He's grown very fond of her. But...she deserves a home. Even if it will hurt letting her go.

"Yeah, she is." He says softly.

"If its okay with you, I want to adopt her." Logan's heart clenches, he smiles but he feels the sadness creep in.

"Of course, let me get the paperwork." When Logan disappears you see Jean start to look around, wondering where her friend had gone.

"Hey there girl, If it's okay I want to take you home. I promise I'll take really good care of you." You say gently.

Her little whiskers twitch and she gently headbutts your face. The connection you feel with Jeanie is something you just haven't felt with any of the other cats. You want to love her and give her a nice warm home with toys and treats and anything she could ever want. But apart of you feels guilty knowing how close she is to Logan.

"Just need you to sign a few things and then pay the adoption fee." Logan says, coming back through the door.

Jeanie trots up to Logan and rubs her head all over his hand and torso. Purring happily as he scratches her head. But she makes no move to get on his shoulder, in fact she trots over to you and does the exact same thing. He's always heard that cats have a good sense of character, so he trusts Jeanies judgement here.

After signing the papers and paying the fee Logan helps you carry Jeanie to your car. You can see the hesitancy in Logan's face. The sadness behind those hazel eyes of his.

"Logan, do you want to say goodbye?" You ask softly. He was never going to ask for himself but you could sense he needs it.

"If you don't mind." He mumbles.

"Of course, I'll go put the rest of the stuff in my car." You touch his arm, squeezing it gently before giving them their space.

"Alright Jeanie listen up, you gotta be on your best behavior okay? You deserve this and I know they're gonna love you real good." Logan holds Jeanie up to his face. She just meows as Logan talks.

"I'll miss you bub, don't tell any of the other cats but...you were my favorite." He gives her one last chin scratch.

Jeanie headbutts his face one more time, rubbing her head along his jaw as if to say goodbye. You watch the whole thing from your car, you feel horrible taking her away from Logan. But you know that your building has a rule against more than one pet. If anyone were to take her, he's glad it's you.

Maybe...maybe this is your chance to talk to Logan. Your crush lingers but maybe you don't have to get over it. Logan walks over and hands her to you. He starts to walk away but you call his name, chasing after him.

"You know, I could really use some help with Jeanie. I mean I don't know what food she likes or her favorite toys or anything like that." You ramble, seeing Logan's face turn to that of confusion.

"I was wondering, if you wanted to come over for dinner tomorrow night? Help Jeanie get settled in and stuff." You ask nervously. Your anxiety building as you wonder if this was a mistake.

"You sure?" Logan asks, unsure if you're just doing this because you feel bad for him.

"Yes. I mean. I've been wanting to ask you to dinner sooner but I've never found the right moment because you're really hot and you make me very nervous but Jeanie is going to miss you and it would be cruel of me to keep you two apart so it's a win win situation and I'm going to stop talking now." The words vomit from your mouth before you can stop them.

Great now he's going to think you're creepy and lonely. Logan chuckles, a blush creeping up his face. Was it always this hot outside today?

"Dinner sounds great. I can't cook for shit but I can try for you." Your face breaks out into a smile, Jeanie purring as you hold her close to your chest.

"Then its a date." You say shyly. Logan steps closer to you, his eyes on your lips.

"It's a date." He starts to lean but Jeanie meows loudly making both of you laugh.

"Okay I should get her home, the doors always open if you miss her by the way." You tell him and he thanks you. He stands in the parking lot with a smile, watching as you drive away. Wade sneaks up next to Logan, scratching behind his ear before Logan pushes his hand off in annoyance.

"What the fuck?!"

"Look at you boy! Did someone decide to take you home?" Wade asks in fake excitement.

"Shut up." Logan grumbles, rolling his eyes as he turns around to walk back to the shelter.

"Is someone grumpy? How about we get you a new collar and some treats huh boy?"

"I said shut the fuck up red." Logan snaps but Wade just smiles wider. He's been waiting for someone to adopt his friend. Wade was this close to posting an ad on craigslist.

Old man mutant available for adoption. Loves beer, hates everything else. Is potty trained.

Wade sees the smile Logan's trying to hide. He's been waiting for you guys to get together forever.

"Aww does someone need a belly rub?"

"Touch me and die asshole."

[digiflora]

𝐈 𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄!

... aka fictional boyfriends as things my pet cat does lmfao

༊*·˚ featuring ➻ my genshin, hsr & jjk faves

༊*·˚ gia's notes ➻ switching up the layout bc i can teehee... also this one is kinda slop cos its just every character on my masterlist oop. N E WAYS i found out that im allergic to my cat but love is pain and i am a masochist so here we are

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 DOESN'T RESPOND UNLESS YOU CALL HIM BY HIS NICKNAME.

he's leaning against your kitchen counter, fingers tapping against it as he's poised so deliberately to give off the impression that everything he's doing is so absent-minded. the way he's scrolling through his feed so aimlessly, just tuned out from the world, including you and your futile attempts at getting his attention.

you call his name, tug at his sleeve, and you don't miss the mischievous smirk on his lips as he glances up at you.

"i don't know who that is, sorry, i hope you find him though."

it's infuriating, sometimes, when he lets his more playful side out. but you know him well, and you play along, not being able to help the smile that fights to stay on your lips.

"well then, my beloved, could you help me look for him?"

and there's an instant change from him, back straightening as he stops leaning against your counter, arms open wide to receive you, a beam on his face.

"gladly, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ kaveh, welt, dan heng, luocha, GETO

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 GETS EXTRA AFFECTIONATE AND CUDDLY IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT.

no matter as to whether you had gone to bed with him or before, you're woken up prematurely in the middle of the night at the sensation of your body being moved, ever so gently, across the sheets, closer towards a warm body that nestles itself solidly behind you.

you're barely awake, but you smile to yourself at the newfound comfort, having drifted away as you slept, and now happily reunited.

"i missed you," he breathes against your ear, turning his head to dip down and press kisses to your cheek. you smile, nose scrunching at the ends of his hair that tickle your skin, but welcome it nonetheless.

his arm slips around you, keeping you safely anchored to him, and he lets out a contented hum that almost sounds like he's purring, chest solid against your back.

"you're acting like you've come back from war," you murmur, and he can hear the way you tease even in your half asleep state.

"every second away from you is agony, my love."

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ DILUC, alhaitham, JING YUAN, choso, NANAMI

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 RANDOMLY BITES AND HEADBUTTS YOU.

sure, there's doing something unexpected to grab your attention, but it catches you off guard every. single. time.

he has seemingly no regard for whatever it is that you're doing- you're cooking something? he sneaks up behind you, teeth sinking into your shoulder before he slinks away like it never happened.

trying to get work done? he comes up to you, using his head to poke you and offering no explanation as he walks away.

it's ... endearing, to say the least. it comes from a place of love, that's for sure. make no mistake that you like to bite him too, but he still manages to one-up you each time.

while it started off as surprising in the early days of your relationship, over time you've adapted to it, now even offering a body part for him to headbutt as a greeting.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ cyno, WRIOTHESLEY, neuvillette, BLADE, toji, HIGURUMA

ᯓ ᡣ𐭩 FOLLOWS YOU AROUND AND WHINES IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM ENOUGH ATTENTION.

"babyyyy, i'm bored."

you don't have to turn around to know that he's pouting, some grown ass man acting like a toddler in hopes that you'd pay attention to him. you can't help but roll your eyes, what with him pushing the limit between cute and aggravating for the past half an hour or so.

ever since you had invited him over and he practically let himself in, he had basically followed you from room to room, huffing and puffing as you focused on your work instead of entertaining him.

and as you finally settled in your room, at your desk, you watched out of the corner of your eye as he flopped down onto your bed, his head dangling off the edge as he scrolled through his phone half-heartedly.

and you had to admit, he looked cute like that. you bite back your smile as you see him glance up at you to see if you're looking at him before flopping back down on the bed with a huff.

you'll be done soon, then you'll give him all the attention he wants.

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ CHILDE, thoma, sampo, gepard, GOJO

IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... enjoy the silence!

an introduction to your new roommate dan heng, and the guitar that he loves to play so much

[hotyanderedaddies]

Yandere Cat Café Owner Wants You

[Yandere! Cat Dad Boyfriend x GN! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Kitty Café opened up down the block from your apartment, and ever since you'd seen the fliers promising delicious treats with tons of cats to play with, you'd made it your life's mission to visit it.

Unfortunately, your boyfriend was crazy allergic to cats, so you had to go solo. It bummed you out, sure; but the idea of getting to spend some time with tons of cats more than made up for it. You knew that you couldn't adopt one, but maybe you could do a little donation instead.

"Welcome!" a deep, warm voice sounded out as soon as you entered the small café.

Behind the desk was a large behemoth of a man. Even from across the room, you could tell that he towered over you. His body was thick and solid with muscle, and the tight polo he wore was painted across his large chest.

Around him, tiny kittens mewed and pawed at him, asking for pets.

The entire café was littered with cats (duh), but most of them seemed to be sticking close to the man.

"H-hi," you stuttered back, feeling nervous under the intense gaze of the larger man. His eyes widened when you spoke, and you could clearly see his Adam's apple quiver a little, and the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly. "I, uh, I saw the fliers and I had to come see the new cat café."

The man's smile grew on his face. "Great!" he beamed. "You're actually my first customer. I'm Dominik the owner, by the way. But you can call me Da-- *cough, Dom." He smiled nervously, a pinkish hue forming on his face. "What can I get you?"

The owner was really friendly, and he seemed to be over the moon to have a customer. You could tell by how giddy he seemed, and even some of the kittens picked up on it, their glances shifting between him and you.

You looked at the menu behind Dom, amazed by the wide array of tasty treats and delicious drinks that you could order. There were so many choices that you couldn't make up your mind.

"Um," you wondered. "Surprise me." You shrugged, figuring that the café owner wouldn't find the request too annoying... or at least you hoped not.

Luckily, Dom's smile remained, and it even grew bigger. "Sure thing, Kitten," he grinned. "Go ahead and take a seat and I'll bring it out to you."

You winced internally at his odd nickname for you, but ignored it for the moment.

You took a seat near the window, taking time to pet some of the cats that were brave enough to wander close to you. A fluffy orange kitten with little stripes on it clawed its way up your pant leg, hopping into your lap and purring loudly.

"Aww, cute little guy," you cooed as you pet the kitten, loving how it purred even louder.

"That's Pumpkin," Dom said as he approached the table. "It looks like he likes you."

Dom placed a small cup on the table in front of you and a little baked treat. It looked like a cookie in the shape of a cat, whereas the cup was a latte with a little heart made out of the foam. It was really cute.

"Thank you," you said as you took a sip of the latte, your eyes widening at how sweet it was. And it totally lacked any of the bitterness that coffee drinks typically have. In short: It was fantastic! "This is amazing!"

Dom took the seat opposite yours. "I'm glad you like it, Kitten," he genuinely smiled. He then nodded at Pumpkin. "Are you looking for a cat to take home?"

You frowned slightly. "No," you relented. "My boyfriend's allergic to cats, so I can't adopt one."

Dom's smile vanished and his square jaw clenched. "Yeah..." he huffed, something audible in his deep voice, "that's not too good." He sighed before forcing a smile back onto his face. "I guess that means that you'll just have to come visit more often."

You looked up at the larger man in awe.

Blushing, Dom hurriedly added, "I know Pumpkin will miss you."

Almost as if on cue, Pumpkin meowed.

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

After your first visit to the café, you quickly became a regular.

Every so often, you would come by to play with Pumpkin and some of the other cats.

And each and every time, Dom would light up and eagerly strike up a conversation with you, looking as giddy as a kid on Christmas. He was really nice to you and he was quickly starting to grow on you.

He was becoming a really great friend to you.

One day, you rushed over to the café, eager to tell the man the wonderful news that you had. Your fists balled up excitedly, you burst into the small shop, seeing Dom sitting near the counter with a few new kittens.

He perked up when he saw you, his face instantly brightening up. "Hey, Y/N!" he cheered, then he saw how excited you looked. "What's the good news?"

You couldn't resist shoving your left out towards him, showing off the gold band on your ring finger. "My boyfriend proposed!" you ecstatically cheered. "Check out the ring too! Nice, right?"

You were all smiles, dreaming of walking down the aisle to marry your boyfriend: a.k.a. the man of your dreams.

Dom smiled too, although his grin didn't touch his eyes. In fact, his smile looked pained, forced. He sharply exhaled before perking up slightly.

"How about a drink to celebrate?" he asked. "I've been working on a new one." He moved behind the counter and began to shuffle around with some ingredients, his broad back blocking your view of what he was messing with. He peeked over his shoulder to make sure that you couldn't see him add something special to your cup.

When he was done, Dom turn back around and placed a warm mug in front of you. He made sure to take extra care to shape the foam into a cute little kitty.

"I hope you enjoy," Dom grinned, pushing the mug closer to you.

You grabbed it and took a sip. The drink was incredibly sweet, just as you liked it. "It's delicious, Dom," you beamed. "Thank you so much!"

He smiled triumphantly as you downed your drink.

As the two of you talked about your wedding plans (Dom's smile morphed into a frown the more you went on about it), you suddenly felt yourself get a little dizzy.

You placed a shaking hand up to your head to try and steady yourself, but the room felt like it was spinning.

"Are you alright, Y/N?" Dom asked, a cheerful tone in his voice.

You wondered what was going on, not sure if you were catching a virus or something. "Um," you mumbled, "I think I'm getting sick. I'll just head home..."

You stood up, but your legs were wobbly and they gave out on you, sending you toppling down.

Before you hit the hard ground, Dom rushed over and wrapped both of his strong arms around you, securing you tightly in his hold. He pulled you to his torso, and you felt his chest rumble a little as he seemingly purred like a happy cat.

"Wha--?" you tried to ask, but it getting harder to speak as your vision blurred and you felt weaker by the second.

"Shh," Dom cooed as he placed a tender hand on your cheek. "Just relax, Kitten. Let Daddy take care of you."

Before you could ask what he meant by that, everything went black...

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

When you began to stir awake, you first noticed that everything felt so comfortable. Seriously, whatever bed you were lying in had the softest sheets, and there was a fluffy comforter that was so incredibly warm. And speaking of warm, a large body cuddled you from behind, keeping you nice and secured--

"What!?" you jolted awake, everything rushing to you all at once. You struggled to move, but your panic only heightened as you realized that your arms and legs were bound together by what felt like silk ties. The fabric was soft to the touch so as not to irritate your skin, but they were tied so tightly that they severely restricted your movement.

Looking around the bedroom that you found yourself in, you could see that there were tons of cat toys and décor around. A few of the kittens from the café where in the room, watching you intently. Pumpkin purred happily when he saw you, his tail flicking to and fro with glee.

You kept trying to thrash your body around to get free, but the body behind you only tightened its grip on you, effectively stopping you.

"Calm down, Kitten," Dom sleepily yawned, his hot breath wafting over your ear due to his closeness to you.

You tensed up when you felt his lips press to your cheek.

"Dom?!" you cried, unable to get free with his arms around you. He even laid one of his strong legs over yours, his entire body acting as a double lock. "What's going on?"

The larger man chuckled. "Kitten," he cooed, "isn't it obvious? You going to marry that... guy." He said the last part with such anger in his voice that it almost came out as a growl, making some of the cats in the room hiss in response. "So I had to just snatch you up and take you home with me."

You were stunned silent, unable to wrap your head around what was going on. "What do you mean?" you trembled.

Dom pressed his lips against you once more, purring as he did so. "I love you so much, Y/N. So I brought you home with me to convince you to be with me, not with your ex-boyfriend."

"You're insane..." you try to argue, earning a nip from him.

"Don't say that," he hissed. "I'm not insane, you're insane for trying to marry some guy who's not me. You belong to me, and that's why you're here: to be with me, and only me."

Dom tightened his grip on you, sealing off any hope of escape.

"You're mine."

[gallusrostromegalus]

hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

[nonushu]

you vs. cat - chwe hansol

genre: fluff | wc: 520 | warnings: allergies | bf!vernon x reader a/n: my cat's name is jeolmi. i also found out recently that vernon (cat lover) is allergic to cats !

“vernon, are you crying?”

his brown teary eyes look up at you, still petting your cat on the floor. 

“no?” he sniffles. 

the disapproving look on your face scared no one, not even vernon. no matter how many times you tell him, he never listens, he just has to pet your cat, jeolmi. 

“babe, your eyes are kinda red,” you try reasoning. “y’know, you shouldn’t stay around her for too long, ‘cause your allergies…”

“m’fine,” he says, turning away from you to put his full attention on your cat. “plus, i can handle it.” he coos. 

the feline follows his touch, urging him to keep petting. as much as you thought it was cute and all—vernon babying your cat and somewhat ignoring you—you wonder how long he can even manage to withstand his allergies. sure, they weren’t too bad to begin with, and you know it’d be the least of his worries if it meant being able to play with jeolmi. 

“you’re so cute, mimi,” he says, cupping the cat’s face, causing yours to scrunch.

you sigh and move away from the kitchen island to the living room where vernon and jeolmi sit. even though he hears you, he doesn’t turn around to see you, which makes you pout. once behind him, you grab his hair, lightly pulling his head back so he can look up at you. 

“hey,” you grumble. “i know jeolmi is so cute and you like her and she likes you, but—”

“but what?” he says playfully while jeolmi uses her paws to place on his chest.

jeolmi makes a noise as if she is trying to get vernon’s attention back on her. you whine at this when vernon brings his head back down to make more cooing noises at her. 

you let yourself fall behind his back, wrapping your arms around his waist. you don’t see his face, but he’s smirking because he’s knowingly trying to tease you. 

“but what, babe?”

your lips pursed. “but i’m here too,” you whine again, pushing your face into his back. “and i’m cute too…” you muffle in the fabric. 

vernon lets go of jeolmi, leaving her to continue her daily routine. he turns his body with your arms still around his waist making you fall into his lap. his hands meet your waist and he pulls you closer in his embrace, giving you the same treatment as he did with jeolmi. 

“y/n, are you jealous?” he asks, hearing the dorky grin in his voice. 

you don’t answer him but your arms tightening around him tells him everything he needs to know. 

“i only love you,” he grins, that stupid dorky grin you can still hear. “just saying.”

“you mean i’m the only human you love,” you mumble. “you love my cat more than me.”

vernon snorts and you feel his stomach huff. he chuckles uncontrollably, making you sit up and stare at him in disbelief. scoffing, you turn to crawl away but he quickly hugs you again. you feel his breath come closer to your ear.

“you’re the only one i love,” he whispers, hugging you tighter.

[moonstruckme]

i was wondering if we could have some roomate!james where him and reader have a disagreement over something and reader feels like james don’t want her there anymore but he comforts her??

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader feels financially insecure

roommate!James x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

“James.” You run your fingers worriedly over the small tears in the doorframe. Look to your roommate in the kitchen. “This is getting out of hand.” 

“What is?” 

“Juniper’s been scratching on the doorframe again.” 

James tsks. “Junie-girl,” he coos, little reprimand to be found in his tone as he looks down at the orange cat currently winding through his ankles, “what are you trying to do to us, huh?” 

You’re not quite so amused. Since James had agreed to look after his friend Lily’s cat while she’s traveling, Juniper has knocked down and broken two of your glasses, scratched up a corner of the couch, and pissed on the carpet in James’ room. You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with the smell of that last one yourself, but you doubt your landlord will be pleased if James can’t get it out by the end of your lease. 

“She’s got to stop,” you say, oddly unsure if you’re trying to reason with James or the cat. “It’s getting really noticeable.” 

“I’m not sure what else to do.” James shrugs. His pan sizzles as he turns over the chicken he’s cooking. “I’ve already moved her favorite scratching post over by the door and sprayed it with the catnip Lily gave me.” 

You cross your arms and sit down on the couch, chewing the inside of your lip. “I’m worried about the security deposit,” you admit. 

“Oh, don’t be.” James waves a hand vaguely in your direction. “My last apartment was way worse than this when I moved out, and they didn’t charge me for anything.” 

His unconcern nettles you. Of course, why would James be upset about a security deposit? He likes to pretend at independence, but you know his parents will always give him funds if he’s in a bind. He doesn’t worry about money the way you do. 

 “Yes, but that was a different landlord, wasn’t it.” There’s a bit of bite to your tone, and you try to soften it. “Maybe someone else could take her for the rest of Lily's trip?” 

James turns, eyebrows lifting as though he’s surprised you’d even ask. “She couldn’t get anyone else to take her in the first place. Mary’s visiting her family, Marl’s allergic, and Sirius would have a cow.” You’re not very inclined to find the last one a spectacular excuse, but you keep your mouth shut. “I agreed to take her,” he says, somewhat firmly, “and I don’t want to go back on that.” 

Heat prickles over your skin. “I just—listen, I can paint over the small things,” you say. “I’m going to try to cover up as many damages as I can, but when your friends come over and break the handle off the microwave” —true story— “or you let their cats tear up the apartment, I don’t know what to do.” 

“I told you I’m going to fix the microwave,” he says without turning around. 

“When, James? That was months ago, and—” 

“And if my friends coming over is a problem for you, it’s not like you didn’t have plenty of opportunities to mention it when we first moved in.” Now James is growing agitated too, his posture stiffening over the stove. “I don’t get where this is coming from. I told you before we moved in that I’d want to have friends here often. When I asked if Junie could stay here, you said it was fine!” 

“I didn’t know it’d be like this!” You feel ridiculous, nearly shouting at him in your mostly lovely apartment. James really isn’t a bad roommate overall; you know you could do far worse. But the small things have begun to add up, and you really cannot afford not to lose your deposit. “I like your friends, and I like Junie, but this is—it’s too much.” 

“You shouldn’t have lived with me if you couldn’t deal with it.” 

James flicks off the stove, turning around to speak to you directly, and you see the moment he sees the glossy sheen in your eyes. His expression pinches. 

“Sweetheart—” 

“No. Do not feel bad for me right now,” you hiss, blinking furiously. “Just because I’m not good at arguing doesn’t mean I’m not still mad.” 

Your anger is rapidly fading, though, as his words reverberate around in your head. You shouldn’t have lived with me. Does he really think that? There are certainly things upon which you don’t see eye-to-eye, but you love living with James. You love spending time with him, sharing things with him, just being around him. The idea that he doesn’t feel the same about you starts spiderweb cracks going through your heart. 

“I’m not good at arguing either,” he says with a hefty sigh. The tension seems to go out of his shoulders with it, and he starts toward you with heavy steps, plopping down on the couch. “Can we just talk, please?” 

You sniffle, working hard to suppress your tears. “Do you think it’d be better if we didn’t live together?” you ask. 

James' eyes widen behind his glasses. His brows hook up in the middle. “No. Why would you say that?” 

You shake your head, not quite looking at him. “I honestly do like your friends. I don’t mind them coming over or helping you do favors for them, and I get that—that sometimes things happen.” You take a shallow breath. Ignore the way James’ hand twitches in his lap. “But you’re right that I didn’t consider all of this when we moved in together. I’m okay with trying to get past it, but if you want me to move out—” 

“Oh my god, no.” James leans forward, trying to catch your gaze. You don’t let him, because just then a small droplet of water squishes out of the corner of your eye and begins a slow trudge down your cheek. “Sweetheart, I don’t want that. I like living with you.” 

Juniper hops up onto the couch, plodding onto your lap and rubbing her side against your stomach affectionately. A wet laugh bubbles out of you, more tears cresting your cheeks as you scratch awkwardly between her ears. 

James makes a sound so soft you think you’ll dream about it. “Can I hug you?” 

You lean toward him in answer. He meets you halfway, needling his arms under yours and folding you into him. You press your face, hot with embarrassment and upset, into the crook of his neck and shoulder, and James’ hand rubs your back in big, sweeping circles, before it stops moving at all, pressing flush to your spine, easing you closer. Junie hops off your lap. Evidently, she considers your comfort taken care of.

“I don’t want you to pity me,” you mumble. When you blink, your lashes leave wetness like the strokes of a paintbrush on his skin. “If you want me to move out, it’s okay.” 

“I don't,” he promises, squeezing you until it almost hurts. “I was being rash. I was only being defensive because you were angry. About very reasonable stuff, if I’m honest. I can pay for your half of the security deposit if we lose it.” 

You shake your head, shifting your body to hug him harder. James meets you a hundred percent. “You don’t need to do that.” 

“I do, it’s fine. It’s my mess. Just don’t talk any more about moving out, okay?” 

You mumble your agreement into his neck. It tickles, and James squeaks, but he doesn’t let you go.

[muqingslover]

Hello!! I absolutely love your take on the lads men as fathers, they make so much sense of their character!! That being said, I wanted to ask what pets you think they would own, if any?

I love your writing style!! I hope you have a good day!!!

[ this is such a cute request!! Thank you and I really hope you like it! ]

Xavier

He's snow-white fr fr

Xavier has such a tranquil energy around him that whenever he falls asleep outside you just find him covered in little birds, a random stray cat on his lap and a butterfly on his nose.

But he'd have no pets of his own because he just doesn't have the energy to give the care they deserve and the lifespan of most living creatures is too short compared to his own.

Oh not to mention if he had a pet you would probably be aaaall over it and he wants NONE of that.

He's the type that can't keep even a cactus alive because he's asleep the whole time he's not with you or working. (the official schedule post showed he sleeps way more than I thought it's crazy)

Zayne

Oh this sweet, sweet man.

He loves animals but animals do not share the feeling LMAO

He had a tortoise when he was little and we all know his passion for cats so he does like the idea of having a pet.

Because of his schedule as a surgeon I can see him having something that agrees with his busy lifestyle like those pretty fish tanks.

Not to mention the fish can't reject this poor guy and are as quiet as he is.

The plants he keeps in his house/office are like his children too and watering them is part of daily routine.

Sylus

He has Mephisto of course (and the twins jk) but I firmly believe he's one of the people who are blessed by the cat's universal system.

Here and there he'd randomly save or feed a stray and the cat would stick to him like glue.

They begin "multiplying" and eventually he has six different cats coming in and out of his house.

They're not really his but he lets them be as long as you're not allergic to them.

Mephisto is fighting for his life and staying in very high places so he's not torn to pieces.

The twins have multiple photos of Sylus asleep with the kitties and they send one to you every week.

He's like the dad that says "I don't like cats" and then he shows up with three different types of deluxe food.

Rafayel

Man's a whole fish he IS the pet.

All jokes aside, he seems the type to have a pretty bird like cockatiel or a white dove that has as much of an attitude as he does.

He definitely paints the bird and is extra enough to use the loose feathers for details to add authenticity to the piece.

100% will argue with it like the bird understands him.

"She likes you more than me! The one who raised her!" *cuts to the bird turning it's head away from him and nuzzling on the top of your head*

Strolling buddies. Every time Rafayel goes out for inspiration or just to clear his head the bird will follow him and he likes the company more than he'd ever admit.

Caleb

If he could this guy would own BIG dogs no argument.

And yes plural because he'd have at least two.

The dogs are all very well trained and absolutely adore you. Much like the owner.

He will often send you videos of them in goofy costumes he bought and he's just laughing his head off in the background.

I also feel like he used to collect bugs when he was just a brat.

He'd terrorize you and Zayne by running after you two with those big ass beetles like

"It's just a little guy! Look! :D" "*screams of horror"

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 2: "The one with the purring traitor" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: You and Frankie hash out the details of your fabricated story, all while enduring the blatant betrayal of your own cat and your brother’s relentless teasing. WC: 8.4K

A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so happy to see how much you enjoyed the first chapter of TBA! Your comments mean the world to me—I absolutely love reading them, and I hope you love this part just as much <3 let me know what u think ;) Don't forget to lmk if u want to be added to the tag list, and follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications <3

Friday, August 9th. One day before the party.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand, the sound breaking the quiet of your bedroom. You set your book down, its pages splaying open across the blanket, and rolled onto your side to grab your phone. The screen lit up.

[Unknown number]: Outside.

You exhaled sharply, a breath that sounded louder than it needed to. Your stomach twisted, a faint ripple of nerves spreading through you. 

Five minutes later, Frankie stood in the center of your living room, his hands planted firmly on his hips. His brows were drawn together, his expression impatient as he watched you move around the kitchen. The faint smell of tea leaves and honey filled the air as you poured hot water into your mug.

“You don’t seem to be in much of a rush,” he said finally, his voice carrying the faintest edge of irritation.

You glanced at him briefly, your hand stirring the tea as if to say he could wait.

“What’s the rush? The party isn’t until tomorrow.”

Frankie didn’t answer right away. Instead, he looked around the room, his eyes flicking to the books stacked on the coffee table, the blanket draped haphazardly over the arm of the couch, the quiet clutter of a space lived in but not always tidy. He shifted his weight, his boots scuffing lightly against the floor, the impatience practically radiating off him.

You blew on your tea, meeting his gaze over the rim of your mug.

“You look like you’re about to explode. Sit down, you’re making me nervous pacing around like that,” you said as you walked past him, your hand cradling the warm mug. “Are you sure you don’t want anything to drink?”

Frankie hesitated for a moment, then dropped into the couch across from you. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, making it stick up at odd angles.

“What do you have that isn’t hot?”

You settled into the couch, the mug resting on the coffee table in front of you. The surface was cluttered with your used stickynotes, a few receipts, coasters, and an old pen you didn’t remember leaving there.

“Water, iced tea, a couple of cans of soda.”

Frankie leaned back, only to be interrupted by Mr. Darcy, your perpetually attention-seeking cat. The tabby appeared from the side of the couch, his soft meow high-pitched and delicate as he rubbed himself against Frankie’s leg. You frowned, betrayed.

Frankie leaned down, his hand immediately stroking the cat’s fur, and Mr. Darcy responded with a loud purr.

“What kind of soda?” 

You rolled your eyes.

“Sorry, I didn’t know my guest was royalty. Next time, send a list of your preferences in advance, princess.”

He lifted his head and rested his elbows on his knees, leaning closer with an expression that was almost amused. Almost.

“I just asked what fucking flavor. Relax.”

“Coke.”

“I’ll take one.”

You stood with an exaggerated sigh, letting it linger in the air, but refrained from commenting on his lack of manners. The word please seemed allergic to his vocabulary, but you didn’t feel like pointing it out. Not today.

When you returned, you set the can of Coke down on the glass coaster on the table and took your seat again. Frankie reached for the drink, his fingers brushing the cold metal as he popped it open. The hiss of carbonation filled the quiet, mingling with the soft hum of Mr. Darcy’s purring at his feet.

“Okay, tell me about them,” you said, your tone clipped and businesslike, as if the two of you were about to negotiate the terms of a merger. You folded your hands neatly on your lap and fixed your gaze on him. Frankie, meanwhile, was focused on the can of Coke he’d just opened. He tilted it to his lips, taking a long sip. The way his throat moved as he swallowed made you glance away, irritated for no good reason.

When he finally set the can down on the coaster, he looked up at you.

“My mother’s name is Helena. She’s kind, easygoing. And observant. She’ll be watching us like a hawk the entire time. She already has her doubts about... all this.” He gestured vaguely, as if to encompass the entirety of the situation. “So we can’t get sloppy.”

You leaned back, crossing your arms over your chest.

“That’s going to be difficult, don’t you think?”

“Well, you’ll have to cooperate.”

You scoffed, an expression of mock offense crossing your face.

“I have to cooperate?”

“Yes. You.”

“Believe it or not, Francisco,” you said, leaning forward ,“I’m very nice. Easy to get along with. Mothers adore me.”

Frankie raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching like he was suppressing a laugh.

“That may be,” he said, his tone skeptical. “But I can’t risk even one slip in this... circus. If we let our mutual... our mutual thing show, she’ll catch on immediately. Believe me.”

You mirrored his arched eyebrow, matching his energy.

“Fine. Just be nice to me, and I’ll be nice to you. I promise.” You let the words hang for a moment, watching as he relaxed just slightly, the tension in his shoulders easing. Then you added, sweetly, “I just want you to remember, at all times, that no matter how nice and lovely I am, it’s all a lie.”

Frankie leaned back, his lips quirking into a faint smirk. “Noted.”

The he exhaled heavily, rolling his eyes as if to physically expel his frustration. His hand moved to his neck, fingers brushing the skin in an absentminded gesture, like he was trying to ground himself. Mr. Darcy, ever the opportunist, leapt onto the couch beside him, his sleek tail flicking against Frankie’s arm. The cat’s head butted into him in what looked like a gentle plea for attention. You watched the scene for a moment, torn between amusement and suspicion, your lips pressed into a thin line.

“Just get a grip, okay? You can’t react to everything I say like it’s a personal attack.”

You arched an eyebrow, leaning back slightly with your cup in hand.

“And what about you?”

“What about me?” He leaned forward again, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped tightly together like he was preparing for some kind of intervention.

“You have to behave yourself too. Sometimes, you don’t even realize how nasty you’re being. Maybe it flies under the radar for most people, but if your mom is as observant as you claim—and she’s your mother, so obviously she knows you well—she’s going to pick up on all those little micro-attitudes. Immediately.”

You delivered the last word like a verdict, your tone carrying the weight of someone speaking to a particularly stubborn child. To your surprise, Frankie didn’t argue. Instead, he nodded slowly, his expression calm, even thoughtful.  

“Yeah. I can do that.”

“Good,” you replied, watching him carefully as you lifted your cup to your mouth, the faint steam curling around your face. You let the warm liquid sit on your tongue, satisfied—for now—that you might have just come to an agreement with the most impossible person you’d ever met.

Frankie began describing his family in broad strokes, filling in the blanks with enough detail that you felt as if you were piecing together a portrait of his life. You listened intently, committing everything to memory like a student preparing for a crucial exam. 

Helena, his mother, was the first to come up. She was fifty-nine, a literature teacher with a reputation for being kind but quietly persuasive. Frankie mentioned that she had a particular way of asking questions that felt more like peeling back layers than making polite conversation. She still lived in Austin, sharing a house with his youngest sister, Maia, ever since his father passed away almost two years ago. That detail hung in the air for a beat longer than the others, but he moved on quickly.

Luna, his oldest sister, was next. She was forty, an interior designer based in Boston, and from Frankie’s tone, it was clear she had a strong presence in the family. “Kind, funny, a little overbearing,” he said, his mouth twitching slightly, as if recalling an incident that perfectly illustrated her character. She was married to Henry, a wealthy architect fifteen years her senior. Frankie made a point to say that Henry was a good man—honest and big-hearted—and seemed to mean it. Together, they had a ten-year-old son named Jamie.

Sofía came next, the middle sister. She was thirty-eight and owned a flower shop. Frankie described her as friendly and warm but also hinted at a guardedness beneath her cheerful exterior. She lived in Austin with her sixteen-year-old daughter, Grace, a name that carried an air of quiet reverence when he said it. You wondered what Grace was like, if she carried more of her mother’s warmth or her uncle’s sharp edges. For the sake of her, you hoped for the first option.

Finally, there was Maia. Twenty-nine, a graphic designer, and still living at home with Helena. Frankie hesitated before speaking about her, his expression shifting slightly. “Of all of them,” he said, almost reluctantly, “she’s the most complicated.” Not because she was difficult or unpleasant—quite the opposite. Maia, he explained, was the kind of person who could see through walls, so perceptive it was almost unnerving. “She’ll figure us out if we’re not careful,” he warned, his tone heavy with certainty. 

By the time he finished, you felt like you’d been handed a dossier. Each name and detail was a thread you knew you’d need to hold tightly. You nodded as he spoke, mentally sorting the names and faces into a map of relationships you’d need to navigate. This was going to be more than a performance—it was going to be a test.

Frankie exhaled, slapping his palm against his thigh with a finality that felt rehearsed, like he was drawing a line under the conversation.

“That’s it, I think,” he said, his tone flat as his eyes lingered on you. 

But you weren’t ready to let him off the hook. Squinting slightly, you folded your arms across your chest and leaned back into the couch.

“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head as if that might give you a different angle on him. 

He raised an eyebrow.

“You know me,” he replied with unearned confidence. 

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, letting the sound punctuate the silence before glancing away. Amusement tugged at the corners of your lips as you brought your gaze back to him.

“I don’t know anything about you. All I know is what little Santi’s told me, what I’ve overheard here and there... that’s it.”

“That’s something,” Frankie interjected, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms, lifting his chin with a smugness that made your fingers itch to knock him down a peg. “Go on, then. Tell me what you know.”

His expression dared you, and you met it with a smirk of your own.

“Fine,” you said, sitting up straighter and pressing your lips together in mock seriousness. “You’re in your thirties, you live alone, you’re a pilot, you like beer... Oh, and apparently, you can devour a whole burger and fries in under ten minutes.”

Frankie snorted, like he couldn’t quite decide whether to laugh or call you ridiculous. He held your gaze, his dark eyes narrowing slightly as if trying to wait you out. But the smirk stayed on your face, unwavering, and eventually, he sighed. 

“I’m thirty-five,” he said finally, his voice measured and calm, as though reciting facts from a resume. “I live alone, yeah. Used to be in the CAG, but I retired a few years ago. Personal reasons. Now I’m teaching pilots-in-training over at the JPA.”

“Oh, right, I already knew that. That’s where you met Santi, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“And what were you doing there? He never told me much.”

“I’ll tell you some other time,” he said, sounding either annoyed or uncomfortable—it was hard to tell. “Do you know what CAG stands for?”

"Tell me."

“Combat Application Group,” Frankie said, his tone steady, measured. “Do you know what that is?”

You arched an eyebrow, shaking your head. 

His lips curled into a faint, humorless smile.

“Then they’re doing their job right. They change the name every so often. Some people know it as Delta Force.” He paused, his eyes searching yours, as if testing how much you could handle. “I was part of the CAG for most of my military career.”

For the first time, you found yourself leaning forward, your interest genuine, your usual quips momentarily silenced. Frankie seemed to notice, his expression softening slightly, though the seriousness never left his face. 

“Why did you retire? What happened?”

For a fleeting second, his eyebrows twitched.

“Personal issues,” he said again.

You exhaled through your nose, sitting back slightly.

“I’m supposed to be your girlfriend. Shouldn’t I know that?” 

He sighed. Shaking his head just enough to let you know he wasn’t budging, he replied:

“No one in my family is going to ask you about it.”

You studied him, your eyes narrowing slightly, searching for any crack in the armor he wore so carefully. But Frankie didn’t flinch. His shoulders remained squared, his gaze firm, the set of his mouth resolute. Whatever lay behind the personal thing was locked away, and it was clear he wasn’t going to hand you the key. 

After a few more seconds of silence, you nodded, more to yourself than to him.

"Okay, I get it,” you said with a sigh, letting your gaze fall to your hands resting in your lap. For a moment, you traced invisible patterns on your palm, your tone edging toward resignation. “What do you want me to tell you about me?” 

“Nothing. I know enough.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.” 

“I’m not trying to be mean. Santi has told me what’s necessary. I know enough to get by.”

“Oh, really? Enlighten me,” you said, folding your arms across your chest, your tone daring. 

Frankie gave you a slow, confident smile, as if he’d been preparing for this moment.

“You’re twenty-nine years old. Santi’s your only brother. You studied Literature, and you’ve been running your dad’s bookshop for, what, six years now?” He paused briefly, letting the words settle before continuing. “You like cats. Movies—especially horror movies. You love the cold, which is ironic since you’re from Austin, where it’s basically summer all year. And you’re... well, I wouldn’t describe you as outdoorsy or... or adventurous.” 

He glanced at you with a faint smirk just as your expression twisted in a mixture of surprise and mild disgust. His hand dropped to pet Mr. Darcy, who had curled up beside him, purring softly. “Oh, and your cat’s name is Darcy.”

“Mr. Darcy," you corrected him. "Santi told you all that?” 

Frankie shook his head, his focus still on your pet, his hand moving in lazy strokes along Mr. Darcy’s back.

“He didn’t tell me outright. But he let it be known. You just have to listen.” 

There was something about his tone that irked you—a subtle but undeniable air of superiority, as if he’d decoded your entire existence from a handful of anecdotes. You studied him for a moment longer, debating whether to challenge him further, but Mr. Darcy’s contented purring seemed to deflate your frustration. For now. 

“Well, I… Well,” you faltered, unsure of what to say. "Okay, I was thinking, what should I wear to the party?"

“Something nice. Not too fancy. But cute. You know, approachable."

"Sure," you muttered, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as he smoothed a hand over the cat’s fur.

"You have to make a good impression. But not too good. You need to seem... normal. Forgettable, even. Be nice, but don’t go overboard."

"What’s the point, then? I thought my job was to be the awesome girlfriend. Isn’t that what you wanted?"

Frankie leaned back against the couch, stretching his legs out, and gave a slow shake of his head like you’d just said something profoundly silly.

"Yes, but don’t overdo it. I don’t need my family asking me about you for weeks after. Tomorrow’s the first and only time they’ll see you, so what’s the point?"

"What a waste," you whispered to yourself, but loud enough for him to catch. “But fine, your family, your rules. So, what should I bring your mom as a gift?”

Frankie waved his hand dismissively.

"Don’t worry about it. I’ve got that covered."

“So you’ve thought of everything, huh?” you said, letting a touch of mockery creep into your voice. “I didn’t realize this was such a big deal to you.”

Frankie snorted. "If this is what it takes to stop them from setting me up with every woman they know, trust me, I’m going all in. No room for half-measures here."

He scratched his chin thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the room, taking in the familiar clutter of your living space, before a long yawn interrupted the silence.

“But why do they even care so much about you having a girlfriend? I mean, I get it—you’re, let’s say, not the easiest person to tolerate, and small talk probably feels like torture for you. But I didn’t have you pegged as the kind of guy who needs his mom to play matchmaker,” you said, voice dripping with just the right mix of sarcasm and curiosity as you tilted your head.

“That’s a bold comment coming from someone who had to invent a fake boyfriend because her ex, who dumped her for someone else, invited her to his wedding.”

Fair. That stung, but you couldn't bring yourself to be genuinely angry. Instead, you let out a small, wry smile, your ego only slightly bruised.

Frankie continued, unfazed by the fact that he had clearly made his point. “And I have no problem getting someone,” he said, stretching his legs out casually. “I just don’t want to. I don’t feel like dating anyone, much less getting romantically involved. But of course, they don’t get that. They think I need to settle down, find a woman, all that ‘commitment’ shit.”

For a brief moment, you let your mind wander, imagining Frankie next to someone. His type, you wondered. What would she look like? Would she resemble you in any way? Definitely not, you thought. You hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.

You cleared your throat, shifting in your seat, and then asked, trying to sound nonchalant, though a part of you was genuinely curious.

“And why don’t you want to date anyone? You’re not one of those guys with an eternal commitment problem, are you?”

Frankie took a moment to think about it. He leaned back, looking almost lost in thought, his eyes distant for a second. Then, in a flash, Mr. Darcy leapt onto his lap, pulling him back into the present moment with his typical disregard for anything that resembled personal space. Frankie shifted a little, adjusting the cat so it was comfortably curled on him.

“My last relationship didn’t end well,” he said suddenly, his voice unexpectedly serious. “We were together for about a year and a half. She broke up with me a little over a year ago. It wasn’t exactly my best moment, but her reason was that I wasn’t what she needed.” He paused, his gaze unfocused for a second, as if reliving the memory. “I tried to tell her I’d make the changes, that I really wanted to, but she didn’t care. So we broke up. And then, like two weeks later, I found out she’d been cheating on me with some guy from work—does that sound good enough for you?”

You blinked, processing it all, and felt a slight pang of sympathy, which you hadn’t expected.

“Well, that sucks,” you said, glancing down at the floor, feeling a bit awkward. You bit your lower lip, then looked back at him, unable to hide the trace of empathy in your voice. “But it makes sense now... I think."

Mr. Darcy, seemingly done with his intrusion, hopped off Frankie’s lap and sprawled on the floor instead, rolling onto his back in that exaggerated, dramatic way cats do when they’re probably overheating. His belly was exposed, a show of complete vulnerability.

"Yeah. Well. I guess," Frankie said, leaning forward as if the weight of his own words had just fully settled in. He rested his elbows on his knees and interlocked his fingers, his hands becoming a tight knot as if trying to physically hold everything together. Then something seemed to click in his mind. He looked up at you, the shift in his expression almost imperceptible. “Have you talked to Santi about this?”

You furrowed your brow, a little thrown off by the question.

"No, I thought you were going to tell him."

Frankie shook his head. "I didn’t tell him anything. I thought you were going to tell him."

You clicked your tongue, trying to shake the odd tension settling in your chest.

"We should tell him, don’t you think?" Your voice was sharper than you intended, but you couldn’t help it. "Although I'm sure he'll think this is a bad idea."

When you opened the door, Santi’s smile appeared instantly, like the sun breaking through clouds. He pulled you into a hug, enveloping you in that unmistakable warmth only a brother could give. It was absurd how much you’d missed him, considering you’d seen him just two days ago. But that was the thing about Santi—he had this way of making you feel like everything was fine, or at least like it could be.

When he let go, his smile lingered. But then his gaze shifted past you, toward the living room, where Frankie stood by the couch, arms awkwardly crossed, caught somewhere between waiting and retreating.

Santi’s expression changed so fast it was almost comical—his smile collapsed into confusion, his eyebrows pulling together, eyes widening like someone had yanked a curtain back too quickly.

“Frankie?” he said, his voice pitching upward in disbelief. “What are you doing here?” His gaze flicked from Frankie to you and back again, his tone laced with the unspoken demand for an explanation. “What happened?” He stepped forward, clapping a hand on Frankie’s shoulder, nudging him as if to make sure he was real.

“Hey, man,” Frankie said, managing a small smile as he accepted Santi’s hug. His voice was casual, but you could feel the tension beneath it, like a thread pulled too tight.

Your stomach knotted, the weight of the moment pressing into you. This was a mistake. You shouldn’t have agreed to Frankie’s deal, not like this, not without more thought. But it was too late to undo it now, wasn’t it? The pieces were already in motion, and there was no way to unring a bell.

Half an hour later, Santiago was sitting in the couch across from the two of you, his arms folded tightly over his chest, his expression shifting between disbelief and reluctant curiosity. He hadn’t spoken in a while, too busy digesting everything you’d just explained. When he finally did, his words cut through the silence like a whip.

“That’s fucking ridiculous. Are you crazy?” he asked, though his incredulous smile suggested he thought maybe you were joking.

You and Frankie were perched on opposite ends of the couch, as if a force field separated you, like your bodies were mutually allergic to the idea of being any closer. Frankie had his arms resting on his knees, his hands clasped together, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance. You sat with your elbow propped on the armrest, your cheek resting against your hand, trying to look nonchalant.

“Do you really think this is going to work?” Santiago asked, shaking his head.

“It’s going to work,” you said, the firmness in your voice at odds with the knot of uncertainty in your stomach. “It’s not that complicated. Harry’s already met Frankie, so that part’s fine. We go to the wedding, stay a little while, and then leave. Tomorrow? Same thing. We show up, I do my forgettable bit, and then we’re out. Easy.”

Santiago raised his eyebrows, unimpressed.

“¿Easy? Your mom knows me, man,” he said, turning to Frankie with an accusatory tilt of his head. “You don’t think it’s going to be complicated if she thinks you’re dating my sister?”

“I’m not planning on telling her she’s your sister,” Frankie said. He sat up straighter, his hands tightening into fists briefly before he relaxed them again. “This is a one-time thing. I promise you, it’s not going to lead to trouble. It’s just a favor. A transaction. Nothing more.”

“And what happens when they run into each other again?” Santiago asked, his voice rising slightly as he gestured between the two of you.

“How likely is that, Santi?” you shot back, your brow furrowing in irritation.

He clicked his tongue, leaning forward like he had you cornered.

“My wedding is in a few months, smartass. Frankie’s mom is invited. What’s your plan then?”

The room fell into a charged silence. Oh.

You hadn’t thought of that. Neither had Frankie, apparently, because when you turned your head, you found him looking at you for the first time since this entire mess had started. For one fleeting moment, your eyes met, a shared look of complicity—and, more importantly, desperation.

“Of course, you didn’t think of that,” Santi said, his voice cutting through the growing tension like a whip. He dragged a hand across his forehead, closing his eyes as if summoning the patience to deal with you both. When he looked up again, his expression was pure exasperation.

“God, you guys seriously make me desperate. Are you two ever going to be normal with each other? First, I have to put up with years of your petty, hateful attitudes, and now this?” He gestured between you and Frankie as if the very sight of you sitting there made him tired. “Do you want to kill me? Is that the plan? Seriously, I’m asking—do you both want me dead?”

The sheer absurdity of his words made you laugh, even though you tried to swallow it.

“Oh my God, Santi, you’re so dramatic,” you said, shaking your head, though you were half-smiling.

“Dramatic?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Hey, man, look,” Frankie cut in, like someone trying to defuse a bomb. He leaned forward slightly, his hands open, his tone edging toward apologetic. “I promise I’ll fix it. I’ll tell them she’s your sister—no big deal. And then I’ll come up with something to explain how we ‘broke up’ on the best possible terms. No drama, no mess, okay? I swear.”

You nodded quickly, eager to latch onto his plan.

“Exactly. This can stay simple, we’ll just say we broke up over something normal. Totally amicable, decided to stay friends. Easy.” Your tone softened as you leaned toward him, more pleading now. “Really, Santi. Please, please don’t get mad.”

Santi let out a heavy, theatrical sigh, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just tipped his head back and closed his eyes like he was praying for patience.

“I’m not mad,” he said finally, though his tone suggested he might not be entirely convinced of that. His eyes opened, and he looked at you with something between disbelief and reluctant amusement. “I’m just surprised. Out of all the people in the world, you and Frankie are the ones pretending to date?” He let out a short, humorless laugh, shaking his head. “It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Well,” you said, rolling your eyes as the irritation bubbled up. “It’s not like we planned this. I never thought I’d run into Harry in the middle of fucking nowhere. Besides, this wouldn’t have even happened if you—” you jabbed a finger in Santi’s direction, “—had gone looking for me in Dallas instead of sending Frankie. Or, I don’t know, if you’d given me a proper warning. I could’ve found another way home.”

Santi’s eyebrows shot up, his hand flying to his chest as if you’d physically shoved him.

“Oh, now this is my fault?” he asked, his voice dripping with incredulity. He pointed to himself for emphasis, his jaw tightening like he was trying not to laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the accusation.

Next to you, Frankie snorted, shaking his head in that infuriatingly smug way he did when he thought he was being clever. You turned sharply toward him, glaring.

“Do you have something to say, Francisco?” 

Santiago let out a breathy, humorless laugh, his hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

Frankie, meanwhile, scratched his chin, clearly deliberating how to phrase whatever was on his mind without making things worse. Or maybe he was just stalling, dragging out the moment for the fun of it.

“Yeah. First of all, I don’t understand what you’re trying to prove to this Harry guy. He’s marrying someone else, isn’t he? I doubt he cares whether or not you have a boyfriend.”

“Ah, right, 'cause you’re the paragon of honesty, aren’t you?” you shot back, the heat rising in your chest now threatening to spill out.

“Sure,” Frankie said with an infuriating nod, leaning back slightly as if to make room for whatever you were about to throw at him next.

You leaned toward him, unable to resist. “It’s not like you made up a girlfriend or anything, right? Tell me, Francisco, wouldn’t it have been easier to just act like a real man and tell your mom you don’t want to be with anyone? Instead of, you know, lying like a coward? Or is that too scary for you?”

Frankie laughed then, a low, sarcastic sound that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. He shifted closer, leaning in until his face was just inches from yours, his dark eyes gleaming with something sharp and taunting.

“He’s with someone else. He doesn't care about you. Get over it—”

“No one loves you—"

“Okay, fuckin' stop it!” Santiago shot up from his seat, his hands landing firmly on his hips as he stared at you with an expression that teetered between disbelief and outright despair. He shook his head, exhaling sharply through his nose. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. That’s how you’re going to convince people you’re together? What’s the plan tomorrow, huh? What are you going to do when people actually talk to you? This isn’t even remotely believable.”

“I know how to act,” you shot back, crossing your arms as you leaned into the challenge. You tilted your head, trying for a smug expression, though the heat rising to your cheeks probably undermined it.

Frankie let out a laugh beside you.

“No, you don’t.” 

“Sure I do,” you retorted, fixing him with a defiant look. “You’ll see tomorrow, Francisco. I’ll be super—”

“You almost shit yourself at the diner the other day, what are you even talking about? I saved you—”

“Oh my God, stop!” Santi cut in, throwing his hands up in a desperate plea for silence. He made a horizontal motion with his hands, like a referee calling a foul. “Stand up. Now.”

“Why?” you asked, your eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

“Just. Stand. Up.” Santi said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You hesitated, glancing at Frankie as if he might somehow explain what was going on. He was already on his feet, his movements slow and deliberate, like he didn’t particularly want to comply but knew better than to argue.

With a resigned sigh, you rose from your spot, the tension in your shoulders apparent even in the way you stood. The second you moved, Mr.Darcy wasted no time, sliding into the space you’d just vacated.

Santiago leaned back slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, his expression unnervingly calm. He watched you both like he was observing a particularly amusing experiment, his lips twitching as if he were holding back a smirk.

“Okay,” he said after a moment, his tone almost conversational. “Kiss each other.”

You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him correctly. “What?”

Frankie, equally caught off guard, tilted his head toward Santi. “Sorry, what did you just say?”

“Kiss,” Santi repeated, his voice louder this time, like he was explaining something to a particularly dense child. He gestured between the two of you. “Frankie, kiss her.”

“Absolutely not,” you said immediately.

“Are you crazy?” Frankie added, shaking his head vehemently, his face scrunching up like the very idea was offensive.

Santiago raised his eyebrows, his calm demeanor giving way to something more pointed.

“What, you didn’t think this through? How the fuck are you planning to convince anyone you’re dating if you can’t even manage a little kiss?”

You stared at him, dumbfounded, your brain struggling to process the absurdity of what he was suggesting. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Frankie’s jaw tighten, his mouth pressed into a thin line.

Meanwhile, Santi seemed to be enjoying himself immensely. There was an unmistakable glint of amusement in his eyes, his gaze darting between you and Frankie like he was watching the climax of a particularly entertaining play.

He was savoring this—your awkwardness, your obvious discomfort. To him, this wasn’t just funny; it was justice. A kind of poetic payback for the years of chaos and petty feuding you and Frankie had inflicted on him. The sheer satisfaction on his face was infuriating, but also, somehow, undeniably deserved.

“Well?” he prompted, raising his hands in mock encouragement. “Go on, lovebirds. Show me how convincing this great plan of yours is.”

You glanced at Frankie, hoping for some sign he was going to end this absurdity. But he wasn’t looking at you, or at Santiago, or even at the floor like a normal person. His eyes were fixed on the ceiling, his teeth dragging over his bottom lip like he was physically restraining himself from speaking. His hands rested on his hips, fingers tapping idly against his belt, while his foot shifted incessantly, a nervous rhythm you couldn’t unhear.

You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms.

“Is this fun for you?” you asked Santi, your voice sharp enough to cut through his amusement.

He barely suppressed a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching upward as he gave a little shrug.

“Of course it is. Look at you two. You can’t even conceive of the idea of a teeny, tiny, innocent little kiss.” He paused, his expression shifting into something mockingly thoughtful. “You know, Fish,” he added, turning his attention to Frankie, “your mom invited me to her birthday tomorrow.”

That got Frankie’s attention. His head snapped toward Santiago, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

“It’s a shame,” Santi continued, raising his eyebrows in exaggerated regret. “But I can’t go. I’d love to see the two of you embarrass yourselves in front of an audience. That would’ve been a real treat.”

Frankie clicked his tongue, clearly irritated. “Come on, man, don’t start.”

But before Santiago could respond, you interrupted.

“Kiss me,” you said, turning to Frankie with a tone that was less a request and more a threat.

Santiago let out a breathy laugh, stifling the full force of his amusement but not entirely succeeding.

Frankie looked at you like you’d just suggested a double homicide, his brows lifting high enough to crease his forehead.

“Come on,” you repeated, stepping closer to him. You let your arms drop to your sides in what you hoped was a disarming gesture, but Frankie didn’t budge. His expression didn’t soften, either—in fact, it somehow got worse. He was looking at you like you’d offered him a plate of raw sewage.

“Come on, Fish,” Santi chimed in, his voice laced with mock encouragement. “One little kiss and that’s it. What’s the big deal?”

You stayed where you were, holding Frankie’s gaze, your jaw tightening as you willed him to just get this over with. But he remained firmly rooted in place, his face still twisted in disgust.

And then something shifted in your chest. It was small at first, but it grew quickly—an anger, sharp and undeniable. What the hell was wrong with him? Was the idea of kissing you that horrifying? It wasn’t like this was real. It wasn’t like it meant anything.

You snorted, shaking your head as determination overtook you. Without giving it another second of thought, you crossed the space between you in a single, decisive motion.

“Wait, what the fuck are you—” Frankie started, but his words cut off as your hands gripped the sides of his face and your lips crashed against his.

The kiss lasted no more than three seconds, but it felt like an eternity. His lips were softer than you’d expected, warm and surprisingly still. Your eyes stayed firmly shut, as if that could somehow make the situation less mortifying.

When you pulled back, it was abrupt, almost violent. You jerked away from him and immediately crossed your arms again, your defenses snapping back into place.

Frankie stood there, completely still, his face frozen in an expression of shock. His eyebrows were furrowed, his mouth slightly open, and his eyes were unfocused, like he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“It’s not that hard, Francisco,” you said, your tone clipped as you turned away and sat back down on the couch, this time right next to Mr. Darcy. “I’m a woman, not an alien. It’s not so terrible.”

Your brother was staring at you, his expression a mixture of delight and disbelief. For a moment, he said nothing, just taking in the scene like it was the best entertainment he’d had in years. Then, with a wide grin, he walked over to Frankie and delivered a solid punch to his stomach.

Frankie clicked his tongue in annoyance, snapping out of his daze with a low groan.

"I’m already regretting this," he muttered then, his voice low but sharp, as he turned his back to you and Santi. 

“You can’t regret it now,” you called after him, your tone sharper than you meant. It was enough to stop him. He turned his head slightly, just enough for you to see his face. He didn’t look angry, not exactly. There was no sharpness, no fire. Just this quiet disappointment.

“A deal’s a deal,” you said. "You were the one who insisted. Or have you forgotten that already?”

“No,” he said, a little too quickly, his eyes flicking to the ground. “Of course not. I just—” He paused, rubbed the back of his neck. “We didn’t think it through.”

From his spot against the wall, Santi let out a low whistle, arms crossed as he watched the exchange unfold like it was a show he’d seen before.

“Yeah we did,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “The issue isn’t that. The issue is you chickening out. You were fine until Santi showed up.”

“Oh, now it’s my fault again?” Santi asked.

You shrugged, noncommittal.

“Okay, well,” Santi said, pushing off the wall and stepping closer. “Do what you want. It’s none of my business. Just—” he gestured vaguely, like he was brushing something away, “be a grown-up about it. And don’t screw it up, yeah? Because, honestly, of the three of us, I’m the one who has to deal with your shit.”

“We won’t cause trouble,” Frankie said, his voice quieter now but clear. He glanced at you, then at his best friend. “You have my word. I’ll keep it together. I'll be respectful. No bullshit. I promise.”

Santi nodded, his mouth twitching into the faintest smile. He reached out and clapped Frankie on the shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Sure, man. I trust you. Just—” He laughed lightly, his smile widening. “Don’t be such a child.”

He turned to you then, something knowing in his gaze, before looking back at Frankie. His laugh came deeper this time, warm and unguarded.

“Oh, I know exactly how this is going to end,” he said, shaking his head.

He didn’t stay much longer, mentioning something about dinner plans with Yovanna and promising to call tomorrow. The air felt lighter as he left, like he’d taken the weight of the moment with him, leaving only the two of you standing in its wake.

A few moment later, Frankie was ready to go too, or at least he looked like he was. He sat across from you now, his posture relaxed in a way that felt calculated, like he was trying to project a calm he didn’t entirely feel. Your cat, utterly oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in the room, rubbed insistently up and down his leg, purring loud enough to fill the silence. Frankie absentmindedly ran his fingers along his fur, the gesture soft, almost tender.

From where you sat on the opposite end of the couch, you shifted slightly, trying to tread carefully. Your voice, when it came out, was low, calculated even—an attempt not to poke at the fragile truce that had settled between you.

"You know Santi’s right, don’t you?" you asked, watching as Frankie’s head lifted immediately, his gaze locking onto yours. "I mean, I don’t know how you are with your actual girlfriends—if you’re, like, affectionate, or into, you know, public displays of affection or whatever. But if we’re going to do this, you’ve got to get over it."

"I don’t have anything to get over. We just need to stick to the basics."

"Aha, the basics," you echoed, leaning forward slightly. "Sure, okay. But you couldn’t even kiss me without looking like it was physically painful."

"That’s not fair. You caught me off guard, that’s all. The context was weird. Santi was watching—it threw me off." He shook his head, his discomfort practically radiating off of him.

You leaned back, crossing your arms as you let out a short laugh, the sound more exasperated than amused.

"Your whole family is going to be watching tomorrow."

You stood abruptly, the movement carrying your frustration with it, and crossed the room in a few quick steps. You didn’t look back as you walked into the open kitchen, heading straight for the sink and grabbing a glass from the counter. The sound of water filling the glass was the only noise for a moment, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

Frankie didn’t say anything right away. When you turned around, your glass now empty in your hand, he was still in the living room, his focus firmly on your cat. He scratched behind his ears like he hadn’t just been called out, like he could stay there indefinitely and avoid the conversation entirely.

But then he stood, moving toward you with an unhurried calm that didn’t quite match the unease in his eyes. He stopped a few feet from you, leaning one hip against the kitchen island as if he needed something to ground himself.

"Your mother," you said, setting the glass down on the counter with more force than you intended, "your sisters, your aunts and uncles, your mom’s friends—they’re all going to be watching."

Frankie sighed. "It’s different." 

"Different how?"

"Because Santi’s my best friend. And you’re his sister. It was weird."

"And this is all fake, Francisco," you said, gesturing vaguely with your hand, like you were pointing out something so glaringly obvious it hardly needed to be said. "How old are you again? Forty?"

"Thirty-five," he replied, deadpan.

"Right. Almost forty. And you can’t do something as simple as kiss a woman. Yes, I’m your best friend’s sister. Yes, you clearly dislike me. And yes, I clearly dislike you too. But it’s just a kiss," you said, your tone sharp, cutting. Like you were explaining basic arithmetic to a particularly slow child. "A fucking—"

The word caught in your throat mid-sentence, stolen by the sudden, startling pressure of Frankie’s hands on your face.

Before you could react—before you could even think—he was there. Close, impossibly close, his fingers firm but steady as they cupped your jaw, his palms warm against your skin. His eyes barely met yours before his mouth was on yours, and for a moment, the world narrowed to that one unexpected point of contact.

His lips moved against yours with a precision that felt calculated, like he wasn’t rushing, but he wasn’t holding back either. They parted yours gently, and his breath mingled with yours, each second stretching into something that felt far longer.

Three seconds. Four, maybe five. It was enough for you to notice, to feel how his thumb brushed against the side of your face, to register the faint scent of his cologne. Enough for it to completely throw you.

Then, just as suddenly as it had started, it was over.

He released you, stepping back without ceremony. For a moment, he just stood there, looking down at you from his full height, his expression unreadable. Then he clicked his tongue, a sound so small but so maddeningly smug it made your blood simmer.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. You were rooted to the spot, your thoughts a scrambled mess as you tried to catch up with what had just happened. Your breathing was uneven now, a shallow rhythm you couldn’t quite control.

Frankie turned away, shaking his head slowly as if he were frustrated—with you, with himself, with the entire situation. His hands flexed at his sides, his gaze fixed on the floor.

When he finally looked back up at you, his scowl was sharp enough to cut. There was something accusatory in the way his eyes narrowed, as if he were blaming you for... what? Letting him kiss you? Letting him prove a point?

“I can do that, no problem,” Frankie said, his voice dripping with confidence, his expression so self-assured it almost felt rehearsed. He stood tall, chest slightly puffed, radiating an air of someone entirely too pleased with himself. “Stop being so fucking insufferable all the time, and maybe this whole thing would be easier.”

The words stung more than you cared to admit. You wanted to hit back, to say something sharp and cutting that would wipe that smug look off his face. Insult him, rattle him—anything to remind him that if this situation was unbearable, it wasn’t because of you alone.

But no words came.

Your throat tightened, and you couldn’t force yourself to speak. It wasn’t just that you were angry—though you were. It was that he was watching you now, not with his usual indifference but with something sharper, something closer to scrutiny. Like he was waiting for your reaction, ready to pounce on it, to use it against you.

Frankie leaned back against the kitchen island, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze dropped to the floor, and for a moment, it felt like the room itself had shrunk, like the air had turned heavy and suffocating. The silence between you was uncomfortable in a way it had never been before.

You swallowed hard, the sound loud in the stillness, and forced yourself to meet his eyes.

"Thank God you’re not my real boyfriend," you said finally, your voice breaking the tension. You tilted your head, letting a sly smile curve your lips as you arched a single eyebrow. "I’d rather kiss a toad."

The corner of Frankie’s mouth twitched, and for a second, you thought he was going to brush off your jab entirely. But then he let out a quiet laugh, one he didn’t even try to hide, his expression softening into something teasing.

"You’ve got a lot of experience with those, don’t you?" 

You rolled your eyes, letting out a soft, incredulous snort. Your gaze drifted to the empty glass of water sitting on the counter, the condensation forming a faint ring beneath it. You should’ve said something else, something sharp to cut through the tension still lingering in the air, but you didn’t.

Frankie straightened up, peeling himself away from where he’d been leaning against the kitchen island. He stretched slightly, his movements unhurried, one hand brushing absently over his stomach like he was just waking up from a nap. Then he reached into his pocket, his fingers curling around something—his keys, you realized—as if confirming they were still there.

He turned without a word and walked over to the couch, where Mr. Darcy had curled up in his usual spot. Frankie gave the cat a quick pat on the head, his fingers lingering for a moment longer than necessary, then straightened again. When he turned back to you, there was something almost playful in his expression, a teasing glint in his eyes that made your stomach twist in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

"I’ll pick you up at six tomorrow," he said, his voice casual but firm, like it was already decided. "Don’t keep me waiting."

You blinked at him, disbelief washing over your face. From your spot leaning against the counter, you tilted your head slightly, trying to gauge if he was serious—or if he was just trying to get a rise out of you.

"Or what?" you shot back, your voice dripping with mockery. "You’re going to leave without me?"

Frankie paused at your door, his hand hovering over the handle. He turned his head, his eyes locking onto yours.

"I’ll come up and get you," he said, his tone low and almost threatening.

Before you could reply, he pulled the door open, stepping out into the hallway and closing the door with a gesture that felt vaguely theatrical.

You stood there for a moment, motionless, your eyes drifting aimlessly around the room. It was quiet now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the corner.

Then a sharp, high-pitched meow broke through your thoughts.

You glanced down to see Mr. Darcy padding toward you, his tail held high like a little banner, the picture of feline confidence. He stopped just short of your feet, looking up at you with wide, expectant eyes. The kind of look that demanded attention.

“Oh, so now you’re coming back to me?” you asked, crouching down to run your fingers over the soft fur on his head. He tilted his chin upward, leaning into the touch like he hadn’t just spent the last hour fawning over Frankie.

"Of course, you traitor," you muttered, scratching behind his ears. "Now that he’s gone, you’ve suddenly remembered I exist."

Mr. Darcy purred in response, his tail curling slightly as he rubbed against your hand, but you snorted softly, the sound carrying a faint edge of betrayal.

"You’re lucky I love you," you said, your voice low, almost conspiratorial. "But don’t think I’ve forgotten how easily you switched sides. I don’t know if I’m ready to forgive you just yet."

He blinked at you, unbothered, and you couldn’t help but laugh under your breath. Still crouched, you rested your elbow on your knee, glancing toward the closed door where Frankie had disappeared. 

Mr. Darcy meowed again, drawing your attention back, as if reminding you of where your loyalty should lie. For now, you decided, he was forgiven. Just barely.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

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